


Reeds and Sawgrass

by gildedfrost



Series: Swamp Boys [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 60 is every kind of disaster, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Courtship, Fluff and Humor, Gavin is trying hard not to be a disaster, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, connor (detroit: become human) is a gay disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Gavin takes an impromptu trip into the Everglades and accidentally gets involved in a merfolk courting ritual.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Series: Swamp Boys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756321
Comments: 66
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

“Here, boy!” Gavin whistles and claps his hands. “C’mon, Sumo, get your ass back here!”

It’s just his luck. His coworker’s dog doesn’t know him well, of course he wouldn’t play nice--but Gavin had absolutely no idea the leash was so close to giving in, and when it snapped, the St. Bernard took a whole moment to look over at him as if to say ‘You’ve fucked up now’ before taking off across the road.

There wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d stayed among the shrubs, but no, he’d gone off for the wetlands, taking off with all the energy of a dog who hasn’t had this sort of freedom in weeks. Hank’s hardly had time for his dog with all the extra hours he’s been putting in at the turtle rescue since the last hurricane swept through. It might not have hit home, but it sure did a number on the animals out at sea.

Of course, that means someone else needs to walk Hank’s dog, and today, Gavin’s the lucky one.

He feels ridiculous, out here in a swamp at sunset. He’s got GPS on his phone, he can find his way back out, and he’s minding every single step to keep himself from walking right into a ditch while swatting at mosquitoes. Hopefully Sumo has the sense to stay out of the water and away from snakes. The last thing he needs is that dog becoming some gator’s dinner.

Sumo’s pawprints are large and easy to track, and occasionally Gavin spots bits of fur among the dirt. The further in he goes, the more antsy he gets. It’s still sunny and beautiful, but not for long. He’d really like to get out of here before dark while he can see the path ahead of him.

He thinks he sees a flash of the big guy’s fur up ahead, but getting around the next cypress tree takes some careful maneuvering, and he groans when he realizes he’s lost sight of him again. “Hank is going to kill me,” he mutters, taking another few muddy steps into the swamp. Hank will probably end up spraying him with the hose alongside Sumo.

A pair of ibis run-walk away from him as if they’re not sure whether to care about him or not. The movement draws his eyes, and he glances about for snakes or gators out of habit before his eyes land on a strange figure.

It’s pale, a greenish-white color draped over a mossy log sticking out from the water, and his first thought is that someone may have ditched a tarp out here. But it’s a little too shiny, and when he stands still and watches closely, there’s movement.

It’s breathing.

Horror dawns on him as he realizes that’s a person, chilling naked (or at least half so, but their lower half is obscured by grass and other foliage, and possibly submerged under the water) with their back to him. Now he notices the hair on their head, short and brown and also damp, and he gulps.

They must have been left for dead. It’s a wonder they’re still alive, but the wildlife may kill them yet.

“Holy shit,” he says, grabbing a tree and stepping into the shallow water. He’ll need to traverse along the edge of this little pool to reach the person. “Hey! You awake?” he calls. He’ll dial 911 the moment he gets a chance, but he doesn’t want to risk the stranger expiring before he even reaches them. His first aid training might actually save someone’s life.

The stranger jolts at his words, jerking upright. Their head swivels towards him, shifting on the log, and Gavin can see that he looks like a man. Gavin breathes a sigh of relief at the lack of injuries along his chest, and something looks off about his face--the eyes, maybe, he’s not close enough yet to tell--but he looks lively and alert, staring straight at Gavin.

“Easy.” Gavin raises up his free hand, still using the other to guide him along the trees. He prays he doesn’t step into water deep enough to seep into his boots. “I’m here to help,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how you got out here, or who dumped you here, but I’m gonna get you out, alright?”

His boot gets almost stuck in a patch of sticky mud, but he gets it free and continues on steadier footing. Over the next several seconds he’s able to get within arm’s length of the stranger, who’s watching him much as the ibis did. Probably out of it from being dropped in the swamp, if Gavin had to guess.

He’s close enough to reach him now. He reaches out an arm to offer his hand, only to find the stranger grasping his wrist, his hold cold and tight. “Christ, what the…” Gavin starts, and then his stomach drops.

Sharp, black claws extend from the tips of the stranger’s fingers, the tip of the thumb claw pressing threateningly against the skin on the inside of Gavin’s wrist. His neutral expression turns to something stern, and he opens his mouth slightly, showing impressively sharp teeth.

That’s what’s odd about the eyes, he realizes. They look almost normal, warm and brown, but the pupils are vertical slits.

He looks like something out of a nightmare.

“Oh, my god,” he says, stiffening. “Let me go.”

The stranger loosens his grasp on Gavin’s wrist, but continues to watch him warily, and Gavin feels an awful lot like he’s fucked up somewhere along the line and is about to get murdered in a place no one would look for him. (Hank would say he deserved it, but only as a joke. It doesn’t feel like a good joke right now.)

He’s not sure if this… thing is going to see him as prey, but he’s not prepared to find out.

So he punches the guy.

Gavin’s fist meets his chest and the stranger doubles over. It’s a small victory that gets the adrenaline pumping in his veins, and he takes a couple of steps backwards.

Not quick enough, apparently. A clawed hand lashes out, claws swiping across his arm to leave three deep gashes. The pain sears through him sharply and he withdraws quickly, almost falling off balance. A whisper in the back of his head tells him that’s the last thing he wants, to get his fresh wound in swamp water.

“Get the fuck away from me!” he shouts.

The stranger has recovered, and he pulls himself more fully up onto the log, watching Gavin all the while, ready to strike again. His lower half is even less human than the top: it’s all shades of green mixed with silver, with orange and yellow sunlight glinting off the scales. Large fins are folded along the side, looking sharp to the touch. Gavin can’t even see the full tail at this angle, he realizes: the caudal fin peeks up a few feet back behind the log.

Gavin feels those eyes boring into him as he backs up, and when he thinks he’s out of striking distance, he turns and makes his way out as fast as he can, glancing over his shoulder to where the creature is watching him.

Once he’s on dry ground again, he gets his ass out of there, backtracking as quickly as possible and splashing along the way.

Out of the glades and at the side of the main road, he finally takes a second to breathe, flicking gunk and bugs off of himself. The cuts are shallow, but don’t look good; he can probably get himself set up at home, if Hank doesn’t try to baby him. (And he probably will, after some performative outrage about letting the walk get out of hand.)

It’s a small sign of luck that Sumo emerges only a few minutes later, nudging at Gavin’s leg.

Gavin sighs and scratches the dog’s head. “The hell was that, buddy?” he asks, feeling comfortingly grounded by the heavy presence at his side. “Why’d you have to run off like that?”

He checks Sumo for any obvious injuries, then sighs and sets off for Hank’s place, following beside the road. He can’t help looking over his shoulder, but there’s nothing there.

His unease doesn’t settle until he’s back at Hank’s, getting his wounds cleaned and stitched up, the doors locked and a glass of whiskey at his fingertips.

* * *

“What kind of horror stories do you know about this place?” Gavin asks, lacing his fingers together behind his back and shifting on his feet. He’s watching over one of the baby sea turtle pools, the little critters swimming about lazily in the May heat. They don’t have a lot of them this early in the year, but there’s always some, and he’s got about thirty to watch over right now, not counting the leatherbacks kept inside. He chuckles as one of them bites another, pestering the poor thing until it darts off to some other corner of the pool.

There’s a tourist standing on the other side of the pool. They’ve been watching the hatchlings for twenty minutes without asking questions. It’s kind of uncomfortable.

“There’s that one hunter guy’s ghost up the Loxahatchee,” Tina says. She’s a few feet away, overlooking a pool with a recovering green sea turtle. Juvenile with a boat injury, and about the size of a dinner plate. It’s recovering smoothly. “And something else by Jupiter.”

“Nah, I’m talking cryptids. Loch Ness monster, Davy Jones, Ariel’s evil freshwater cousin. There’s gotta be something, right?”

She shrugs. “We’ve got gators.”

“Seriously? Nothing?”

“What about the mayor?”

Gavin huffs. “So no creepy Everglades shit, is what you’re telling me.”

“Is this about your arm?” Tina looks pointedly at his bandaged forearm. It’s been two days and he’s thankfully avoided infection so far. Hank didn’t even pry when stitching him up, only grumbled and asked a few surface-level questions. “What got you, anyway? It looked like something with claws. Eagle? Panther?”

Gavin opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t just want to lie, but he knows she won’t believe the truth. Hell, he’s not sure he even does.

He settles for a safe middle ground. “I think it was an aggressive cosplayer. Really sharp nails.” He accentuates the words by clawing in the air like a cat.

The tourist coughs and sidles away.

Tina doesn’t seem to buy it any more than he believes it himself. “Someone or something picked a fight with you, and you want to blame it on some boogeyman.”

He sighs. “Just forget about it, alright? I’m not sure what got me and I’m still thinking it over.”

“If you don’t want me to tell, I won’t.” She nods towards one of the buildings where they operate on and examine the turtles. Hank’s in there now, taking a look at a new patient with Chris.

“If I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know,” he promises, looking back at the hatchlings. One zooms about with abandon and another bites at one of its buddies. A smile crosses his face watching their antics.

The smile disappears when he hears voices from the entrance to the yard, and he grimaces as an entire gaggle of human children floods the place, chaperones mingling between them. He shares a forced smile with Tina.

He loves his job, he really does. Turtle rehabilitation is something he’s really good at, and he’s close with the animals here, from the giant loggerheads to the tiny seahorses in one of the indoor tanks. But educating the public is part of the package, and god, Gavin hates it.

* * *

Gavin boasts about being smart and clever, but he’ll also be the first to admit that, sometimes, his ideas aren’t the best. This idea ranks pretty highly on the list of “things no one should ever do,” and that’s why he doesn’t tell Tina or anyone else what he’s doing, because they’d sit his ass down and say he’s out of his mind, for more reasons than one.

The curiosity is eating at him incessantly, making him restless at night and distracted at work. It’s been a week since the encounter and he can’t take it any longer. He takes a half-day off work, letting Jeffrey know about it a couple days in advance, and packs a backpack with necessities (including a first aid kit) and puts some snacks in a cloth shopping bag.

He’s going to find the creature again.

He takes a bike, knowing he’d still have to hike a fair distance even if he found a lot in which to park, and locks it to a small tree at the edge of the swamp, not far from the road. It’s early in the afternoon: Bright and sunny, with no rush to get back out before dark. Despite the heat, he’s wearing a pair of old jeans and old shoes, unwilling to ruin his boots, waterproof as they are. The swamp would probably eat those boots up since they’re not built for it. It may not be very safe to walk in the uncharted water, but it will be easier than trying to stick to the sparse ground.

The edge is nice and dry, like a forest with sparse trees and tall grass, but it soon gives way to the pools and puddles of the cypress swamp. Gavin follows the ground as he did last time, but this time, he grabs a sizable stick, pokes ahead in the water, and wades along, ankle-deep, no longer trying to play some impossible game of “the floor is lava.” Thankfully, it isn’t really mud he’s walking across, but a collection of detritus made up of dead leaves and grasses and who knows what else, keeping him from slipping or getting his shoes stuck.

It’s quiet. Peaceful, too. His nerves let up some minutes into the trek as he faces nothing worse than a few bugs biting at him. There are ibis and egrets, and even a small, bulky heron with a black head and back, who hardly pays him any attention as it perches by the water, watching for fish. No snakes, no gators. The walk transitions from uncomfortable to soothing, though his nerves are still on edge. This isn’t his habitat; the creature has the upper hand.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he reaches the log where he’d seen the guy, but once he rounds the thicket of trees, there’s a quiet, watery sound, and he sees ripples across the water as something disappears beneath the surface.

That has to be the creature.

Gavin clears his throat. “Hello?” he calls out, quickly stepping onto the nearest bit of dry land. “Is anyone out there?”

Nothing.

He knows what he wants out of this: To see the creature again and confirm he wasn’t seeing or imagining things. He doesn’t really know where to go from there, except he’d like for it to stay a safe distance away and not scratch or bite him. Providing food that isn’t himself might help in that endeavor.

Assuming it’s not carnivorous.

“You there?” he calls again.

It’s silent save for the insects and birds.

He squints at the water. It’s fairly clear, golden-brown under the sunlight, with only plants obscuring his sight. If the creature is within this section, he can’t see it anymore. But that doesn’t mean it can’t see him.

There’s a slight movement as a scale catches the light and he gasps.

The tail is well-camouflaged, the green and silver melting into the brown under the water. His eyes struggle to keep track of the shape of the tail, but he keeps coming back to that bright scale, and soon he has a clear image. The tail coils like a snake folded over itself, the tailfin looking like large leaves. At the other end, in the dappled shade, he thinks he makes out hair, and maybe the glint of an eye. It’s hard to tell.

He sets the stick aside, propped against the side of a tree, and reaches into the cloth bag. Oranges are a classic, bright and sweet, so he grabs one from the bag and starts to peel it, dropping the peel back in the bag.

And, hey, turtles like them, so maybe this guy will, too.

He separates a segment and tosses it towards where the bulk of the creature’s body is.

It doesn’t move.

“I can see you, you know. You’re shit at hiding.”

He throws another segment, this time at its face (or what he thinks is a face).

No change.

“It’s food, you fucking minnow.”

At the lack of response, he lobs the entire rest of the orange at the thing’s face. The fruit dunks into the water with a loud _plop_ , and finally there’s movement. The creature moves, scales flowing frighteningly fast, and by the time Gavin registers the motion, all he sees is the departing tailfin.

The whole thing is a bit of a disappointment. Then again, if he’d gone hunting for something like a gator, this would be a fairly ideal situation.

At least now he knows it’s real. Not that anyone would believe him, or that he knows what the hell something like him--a merman?--is doing out here in the swamp, but it’s one mystery solved. Not explained, but solved.

He turns to leave, then feels something hit the back of his head.

He whips back around, only to have something hard hit the center of his forehead and drop to the ground. He looks down to see two small, waterlogged chunks of wood at his feet, then back up to see a face peeking out from behind the log.

It’s the same creature from last week, though the hair looks different now, wet as it is. He rises slowly, resting his arms lightly across the log, watching Gavin closely.

There are gills at the sides of his neck, Gavin sees now. Three on each side. Gavin tenses up, but slowly relaxes as he realizes that the gaze isn’t predatory. It’s cautious, like he’s waiting for Gavin to make the next move.

“You done being a dick yet?” Gavin asks. The creature tilts his head. He glances at the bag hanging from Gavin’s arm, and Gavin realizes, as he looks across the water, that he can’t see any of the orange left floating in the water. “You want snacks?”

He doesn’t know what to make of the lack of response. Maybe he doesn’t speak English. “¿Quieres botanas?”

Nada.

If this were an animal, he’d toss more food, but this looks like something that’s probably more intelligent. It looks half like a human, anyway--that’s got to count for something. If a human looked at him like that…

God. It’s like feeding someone and getting a look like “that’s it?”

He throws an apple, tossing it short on purpose. The creature looks down at it, then slinks forward, sliding his torso over the log and snapping up the apple before disappearing back behind the log.

Then he ducks, because the apple’s flying right back at him.

“Jesus! You can’t just throw shit!” It lands somewhere in the water behind him, scaring away a bird, and when he looks, he can see there’s a jagged bite taken out of it. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

The creature is closer now, halfway between the log and Gavin. He’s upright at an odd angle, compensating for the shallow water, and his tail is barely submerged. This close, Gavin can see his ears are tapered into points.

“Hey,” Gavin breathes, suddenly uncomfortable and regretting yelling at this guy. He’s still getting that look, and he rummages through the bag again. “Oranges good, apples bad… You don’t even get either out here, you picky asshole.”

His tail swishes slowly, watching Gavin with what could be curiosity.

Gavin grabs a snack bar, unwrapping it and returning the plastic to the bag. “You want me to toss it?” he asks, miming a tossing motion. He doesn’t get an answer, so he shrugs and does so anyway.

The creature’s hand snaps out, catching it in midair, and he bites once, then shoves the rest in his mouth, chomping it with what looks like a bit of effort. Gavin suspects his teeth may not be made for much plant matter. Once finished, he looks down at the water, picking out crumbs and popping them into his mouth.

The thing has a sweet tooth. Good to know.

“Alright, so I got one more orange, and…” Gavin frowns and looks up from his bag.

The creature shimmies backwards, deeper into the water, and makes a surprisingly human gesture to come closer.

He thinks that’s a really bad idea. Stories of sirens come to his mind, but he dismisses them. Creatures living in swamps are gross, not seductive. Even if this guy does have a pretty good-looking body. (Upper half, at least.)

“Look, I’m not about to become fish food, alright? I’ll just stay right here.”

The expression on the creature’s face crumbles and he practically wilts, physically sinking down into the shallow water, and god, if those big brown eyes don’t make Gavin feel bad.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Gavin says. He won’t go deeper than a few inches. He can see where there’s a steeper dropoff, and he steps forward, stopping right where it begins to get deeper. The creature’s face brightens. “So did you want the orange, or…”

The movement is faster than Gavin can track. He jerks backwards and raises his free arm across his chest, but the creature’s already gotten in his space and back out again in an instant.

He has Gavin’s bag.

“Wait!” Gavin calls, but it’s too late. The creature’s absconded, speeding away under the water, and this time he doesn’t stop past the log. Gavin spots the ripples moving further away, faster than something this size should be able to move, and then he loses track completely.

He waits one minute back on land, then two, then five.

The creature doesn’t return.

“Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

Connor speeds off like a snake, and it’s only when he’s sure the human can’t see him anymore that he slows, assuming a leisurely speed. The water is deeper here, comfortable for him and other large aquatic creatures. He clutches the bag to his chest while he swims under the surface, taking care not to stray towards where he knows the boardwalk and trails to be, and to avoid the gators. They know better than to mess with him and his kin, but he knows better than to provoke them, especially during mating season.

The journey gives him some time to think on the stranger he’s met twice now. The first encounter left him profoundly irritated; he’d finally found a spot for some peace and quiet, not too close to the trails or the road, where he wouldn’t be disturbed by his shoal. (Not that they normally would bother him, but his brother’s been in a mood lately, making himself an absolute terror when not in the presence of elders. Amanda’s shut him up more than once by icily telling him to find a mate and depart the region for good.)

Connor had been bitter enough about being attacked that he’d skulked off home, becoming snippy and nursing his ego for the rest of the evening. He had worried about being discovered, but when the next two days showed his private area to be free from further human interference, he’d relaxed.

Until the man returned.

It’s possible they got off on the wrong foot. He may have been frightened, lashing out at a perceived predator—and given how physically inadequate humans are, especially compared to merfolk, that could be an adequate assessment.

Returning with food was a favorable outcome that Connor hadn’t foreseen. He’d slipped under the water, prepared to fight or flee as needed, and received sweets instead.

He didn’t trust that the human wasn’t trying to lure him towards the surface in some sort of trap, though there were no other people or machinery in the area. He was a little relieved that the man was not significantly injured by Connor’s attack. If there was no need for animosity between them, then he didn’t want to create any.

He doesn’t know what to make of the human. An offering of delicacies such as that would have been a wonderful start to a courtship, but the name-calling put a bit of a damper on that, and Connor was put off by the insults to his camouflage. But if the man wasn’t seeking friendship, nor was he hunting, what was he there for? Research?

No. A researcher wouldn’t be that loud and crass.

Unless… he was issuing a challenge? Intentionally provoking Connor so that they could wrestle for dominance?

He would lose in a heartbeat, but maybe that’s what he wants.

The man doesn’t have a death wish—he wasn’t friendly, but not cruel—so the next logical conclusion is that he wants a mate stronger than him. Connor’s already shown how quick he is, both in the water and with his claws. He’s superior to any human the stranger could hope to meet. Connor knows if he met a man that much stronger than himself, he’d be swooning. It does make him wonder what a human so ill-prepared for the swamp would want with a being like him, but maybe the man simply can’t connect well enough with other humans.

It helps that the man brought food, and that the scar on his face tells of toughness and survival. Connor isn’t so sure he’d want a mate who wasn’t so obviously competent. Next time they meet, he’ll have to bring a gift of his own and show off a bit. Assuming the other man isn’t too upset at Connor’s departure.

He realizes he might be preening, just a bit. He might have a horribly wrong impression of it all, and the man may simply be lonely or reckless, but it’s been a while since Connor has found someone fit to impress. His shoal wouldn’t approve, but he’s been of age for more than enough summers to make his own decisions.

Connor slows, reaching the area that he currently calls home. It’s shallow, still part of the cypress swamp, the tree cover hiding them from the worst of the sun and from the sight of flying machines.

He passes quietly by a couple of sleeping mer, little Alice fast asleep in the water between them. It’s safe here, but there’s always someone else looking after the tiny ones, just in case something were to happen. Most of the shoal are elsewhere, hunting or exploring or basking in the sunlight, but as he’d hoped, his brothers remain.

Niles rests half-asleep in the shallows as Silas sits nearby, weaving a deep basket from reeds. He’s slowly becoming adept at it, but since losing his right arm a few years back after a horrific abduction by humans, he’s still in the process of learning the same dexterity in his left hand.

Silas looks up at Connor’s silent entrance, eyes immediately darting to the bag. “Where’ve you been?” he asks, using their native language of clicks, whistles, and other sounds that flow so much more smoothly than the human tongue.

“Not far.” He settles beside Silas, lifting the bag up from the water and into his lap, heavy with water. Mentally, he debates whether to fudge the truth—to say he found the bag, or stole it off the boardwalk—but if the man _is_ seeking to impress him… He’ll adjust the truth a different way. “Someone’s courting me,” he says, sounding a little smug. “He presented me with this collection.”

Silas is quick to toss the basket aside and lean forward, and Niles perks up, curiosity getting the better of him. “Well, what is it?” Niles demands. “Who? From Markus’ shoal?”

“Fresh food, collected from unsafe waters.” He proudly displays an orange, the vibrant color grabbing both of their attention, then replaces it in the bag, selecting another item. Most of the items are wrapped in plastic; he’ll need to store that in the bag and return it to the man. “And human food,” he says, showing off a small bag with lots of tiny, brightly colored items inside.

Niles reaches for it and Connor allows him to take it, watching as his brother slices open the bag with a claw and pops one in his mouth. “Sugar,” he declares after a moment of chewing, pieces of it sticking to his teeth. He reaches for another, but Silas’ hand is quicker, and then Connor pulls the plastic bag close to his chest, picking one out for himself.

It’s sweet, and the snack has survived the trip, dry and fresh. The taste is delightful. It’s only because he can see a second bag of similar candies that he lets his brothers fight over the rest of this one, devouring the snacks quickly despite the attempts to savor it.

Connor tucks the plastic back into the cloth bag. Treats like this are few and far between, and he intends to savor them over the next few days.

It occurs to him that the man may have wanted to share with him the way he is sharing now, but he dismisses that thought. The rudeness he displayed warranted this. Perhaps next time they meet they could share a meal. Of course, they haven’t decided on a time to meet again, but if Connor resumes his schedule, they will surely encounter each other the same way. He just doesn’t want to be caught unawares.

Perhaps his gift can wait. He’ll impress with his strength next time. (And the more he thinks on it, the more courtship seems to make the most sense. The stubborn, rough human man seeking out the only one he knows can best him, both of them able to provide for the other… It’s a titillating narrative.)

“Hey.” Silas’ fingers snap before his face and Connor blinks. “Earth to Connor. Spill. Who is it? Simon? Josh?” His nostrils flare. “Not Markus himself?”

“I won’t tell,” he says coyly, “but it’s not Markus. You’ve got no competition from me.”

“If you won’t tell, how do we know you’re telling the truth?” Niles dips himself into the water, fully submerging himself momentarily to wet his dry skin. Everyone around here knows each other, from Amanda’s to Markus’ to Zlatko’s shoals, except for the visitors from the ocean. By nature, Connor and his family prefer freshwater, but their kind is well suited to saltwater as well. It’s possible, as far as they know, for Connor’s mate to be from the sea, though unlikely.

“It’s my turn to court him next. If that goes well, maybe I’ll tell you about him.” Connor grins. “And if he can keep up with the gifts. I’ll be disappointed if this is all he brings me.”

“Are you certain you want him to?” Silas asks. “It isn’t safe to go foraging near humans. If one of the scientists catches him, he’ll have risked his life just to impress you.”

The grin fades from Connor’s face. It may have been years since Silas was captured and subsequently escaped, but the humans combing the area for their kind haven’t disappeared. Every few months someone speaks of a close encounter, or worse, an abduction. Sometimes it’s eggs that are taken; other times, children or adults. The stories are sparse but awful.

His brothers wouldn’t approve of a human. They wouldn’t want the risk. Connor knows to be wary, but he doesn’t think most humans are cruel. He’s seen them from afar, walking with their children and politely observing the scenery and animals around them, laughing and crying and kissing. He’s even aware that the poachers are violating laws by taking from their home, having overheard some of the chatter from tour guides and visitors alike.

“I trust that he’s safe,” Connor says firmly. He won’t tell them why, not yet. “He’ll be okay.”

Later, he hides away the bag in the hollow of a log. He falls asleep to thoughts of holding the human close in a shallow pool of water, keeping him safe and warm and feeling cared for in return. It might not be the eventual outcome—he may yet have some details wrong—but the fantasy warms his heart and brings the promise of an exciting future.

* * *

Gavin returns four days later.

It’s the weekend. He has the day off, and he’d planned on doing something normal like play video games or hang with Tina, but halfway into his morning jog he’d started thinking about that creature.

He didn’t get a degree in veterinary science for nothing. Biology is his thing: he’s curious, always wanting to know more about the natural world around him, animals especially. Mermen kind of fit into that. It’s not something he’ll be able to write a paper about—he’s not the paper-writing kind of guy anyway, and this feels like something of a secret—but he wants to understand. If this guy isn’t a mindless predator, what is he? How smart is he? Does he possess the capability for speech? Can he create and use primitive tools? What’s his diet like?

The curiosity gets the better of him and before he knows it, he’s got boiled eggs and more oranges in a cloth bag, and he’s wearing a new set of wading boots. The soles on his old sneakers started to give, so they had to be tossed out, and he doesn’t want to risk his hiking boots that are supposedly waterproof, but not built for this. So he shells out for the boots, but holds out on waders. This isn’t going to become a regular thing, and he can deal with a bit of water for now.

Hopefully, he doesn’t get killed this time. Providing more oranges ought to prove his worth, at least.

When he reaches the spot, he finds the creature already watching him.

He’s stretched out atop the mossy log, the bulk of his body atop it. His scales shine brightly in the dappled sunlight, and his tailfin slowly undulates in the water before him, the tip surfacing ever so slightly. He looks warm and content, though when he turns his gaze to Gavin, his expression is neutral. Thoughtful, even.

“Hey,” Gavin says. He’s not sure whether to treat this guy like a person or a cat, honestly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The guy doesn’t give him any sort of meaningful response. Figures.

Gavin pulls an orange out of the bag and waves it in the air, watching the mer perk up. One of the fins at his side raises up, showing the nearly gold skin between the bones, and Gavin takes that as a good sign. Unlikely to be threatening. “You like oranges, huh? ¿Quieres esta naranja? You’re not gonna be a dick and take all my shit this time, are you?”

The stranger watches him, as if waiting for him to say something else.

“Do you understand me?” Gavin asks, sounding out each word very slowly.

Nothing more than the flick of his tail.

Gavin tosses the orange gently. It hits the water near his tail and floats at the surface. “Eat up, guppy.”

He slips into the water, and Gavin expects he’ll chow down the orange just like the last.

Instead, there’s a flash of silver and skin as the man darts directly towards him, knocking him flat on his back before he can think to even bring his hands up. His head hits the ground with a dull thump, and then one clawed hand is against his shoulder, the other on the ground beside his head, and the creature’s tail is pinning his legs down.

Gavin looks up into the grinning, toothy face and figures it’s the end for him. At least he’ll go down staring death in the face.

Except that’s not what happens.

No, because apparently, the motherfucker can _talk_.

“What’s your name?”

Gavin blinks, thrown completely off guard. The voice is low and raspy, hard but not rough, and sounds completely human. There’s not even a strong accent.

He’s not dead.

Yet.

The guy is looking down at him, the expression making him look harmless despite the terrifying proximity to those teeth and claws, and Gavin figures he’d better speak before he changes his mind. “Gavin,” he says, his voice coming out a little higher than he wants it to. He clears his throat. “Gavin Reed.”

“My name is Connor,” the mer says, and he looks at Gavin as if considering something before he finally eases up, slinking back a few paces until most of his tail is back in the water. He lies beside Gavin on the ground, arms propping him up.

Gavin sits up slowly, and he’s not knocked down again or attacked. His hair is muddy. When he pats his pockets, he finds his phone is still there and not lost to the swamp. “You can talk.”

“So can you, when you’re not wasting your breath on insults.”

“Strong words from a guy who just tried to kill me.”

“Now you know how easily I can best you in combat.”

“Combat? What kind of combat do you call that?” Gavin snorts. “That’s a fucking ambush, is what it was. That’s not a real fight. What are you, some sort of coward?”

Connor’s eyes widen into an expression of shock, and Gavin regrets it the moment he says it. “Was that… insufficient?” Connor asks quietly.

“No! No, that was plenty sufficient. You’re very strong,” Gavin stammers, backtracking as fast as he can. “I just—I didn’t expect that. You surprised me.”

“You called me a coward.” Connor’s eyes narrow. “Should we wrestle? It could injure you.” His eyes go to Gavin’s arm, where the scars are healing nicely. “But if it would prove my strength…”

“I say rude things when I’m startled.” God, Tina would have a field day if she could hear that line.

“I see.” Connor relaxes, his tensed muscles easing slowly, and he stretches his fin again, the gold catching the sunlight. “You brought more food to share.”

Gavin grabs the bag from where it fell on the ground, now muddy but with the contents still inside. “Sure,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want an orange?”

“Y también los huevos.”

Now Connor’s just mocking him. “You can smell the eggs?” He takes another orange from the bag and offers it to Connor, figuring he’ll be pushing it if he tells him to eat the one bobbing in the water.

“I have excellent skills suited to hunting and other survival needs.” Connor takes a bite right through the peel, eating faster than Gavin is comfortable with. He doesn’t want to see the mess this guy makes when he eats something with blood and bones.

If Gavin tried to flee, this guy could hunt him down in an instant. It’s not a comforting thought. “So… nice place you’ve got.”

“Your initial attempt at subduing me was admirable,” Connor says, ignoring the comment, “and you had the decency to face me directly as you did, but as you can see, my strength far exceeds that of a human.”

“Yeah. You’re very impressive.” Connor’s tailfin splashes behind him, and he almost looks like he’s preening. “Strongest guy I know, actually. Fastest, too. You could take on anyone.”

“Who is the strongest human you know?”

“Uh.” That’s a very specific question. “Probably Hank. You should see the shit that guy lifts on a daily basis.”

“Bring him here. There’s a suitable piece of land nearby. I’ll duel him and offer him the advantage.”

“What?” Gavin takes an egg out of the packet once the orange is demolished, offering it to Connor, who downs it within seconds. Up close, those teeth are terrifying. They’re made for eating fish, maybe meat; fruit is definitely not a standard part of his diet. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Why would you want that? What’s with you and fighting?”

At that, Connor’s fins droop. “I’ve upset you.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around you being real.”

That reassures the mer a bit. “Yes, I know the feeling.” Connor smiles softly. “If you don’t believe a duel is required, I won’t push it.”

“Yeah, no, you’re good.” Gavin hands him another egg, which disappears as quickly as the first. “So you don’t, like, hunt people or anything, do you?”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t hurt a human unless threatened.” Connor takes Gavin’s wrist, looking over the scars. “I apologize for the injury. It won’t happen again. Oh! I have your bag.” He dips back into the water and past the log, returning only moments later with the sodden bag in hand and the stray orange to boot. Plastic crinkles inside the bag. “We enjoyed the snacks, especially those with the nuts and chocolate. It was a very thoughtful collection.”

Gavin’s stomach drops. “There’s more of you. More fish people.”

“Merfolk,” Connor corrects. “This is a little out of the way, but I enjoy the quiet. At least, until you arrived, but I don’t have any complaints about that.” He blinks rapidly and Gavin wonders if he’s got an eyelash in his eye or something.

“Right.” Gavin feels faint at the thought of more mer swarming him for oranges and kicking him onto his ass. “I’m not gonna meet anyone else, am I?”

“No. This place is ours alone.”

Gavin sighs. “Good.”

Connor nibbles politely on the next orange, not quite wolfing it down, and he looks between Gavin and the ground a few times before he speaks, stretching out once more, fins splayed out like a lizard showing its throat. “You’ve never met a man with scales, have you?”

“No. It’s…” He wants to say weird, but that won’t fly. “...a unique experience.” He clicks his tongue, a little annoyed at how much he’s moderating his speech now despite the apparent lack of threat. “Do all of you have tails like that?”

“The shape is similar, but coloration differs. My brothers’ look similar to mine.” He lies fully on his back, both side fins now spread wide. “But my hues are spectacular.”

“Huh. Neat.”

“Don’t you think so?”

“You’re very… shiny,” Gavin says. “The yellow is nice.” He touches one of the fins, only for Connor to instantly retract it and sit straight up.

Connor looks straight at him, pupils blown wide. “Your lack of eloquence and etiquette are astounding for one who claims no interest in a fight. Have I not proven myself to you?” He loses a bit of his fire. “Or are you disinterested?”

“Whoa, jeeze, sorry,” Gavin says, raising up his hands. “I didn’t mean—You look very nice, your scales are the most fascinating I’ve ever seen, and I’m not... disinterested?” He thinks this guy is rude and weird, but he’s also not about to throw out his chance to learn about freaking merfolk of all things. “I’m plenty interested.” A friendship would be good. He’s shit at friendships, but still.

Connor doesn’t lose the intensity of his stare. “Will you prove it?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Then meet me here tomorrow. Bring me a treasure from the land, and I will bring you one of my own.”

That’s probably doable, though the request is strange. Maybe not so strange, if Connor’s people never interact with humans. Wanting something of the world beyond the glades makes sense. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Excellent.” The smile Connor gives him is brilliant. “This courtship should turn out to be a fine one.”

And then Connor’s gone, taking the final orange with him, and Gavin’s left on the shore with muddy clothes, a wet bag, and whiplash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the funniest chapter I've ever written and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to top this.


	3. Chapter 3

“Tina, I need your help.” Gavin paces down the kitchenware aisle of the department store, largely because no one else is in this section to hear this conversation. He runs his free hand through his hair, still damp from the shower after his latest escapade. “I’m all out of braincells and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, only that he can’t leave his new friend hanging. If they can even be called friends. Courtship, seriously? Fish boy wants to date him? Marry him? All he knows is that the guy likes oranges and is obnoxiously vain. (In hindsight, he really, really should have seen that last bit. He had thought the guy was stretching or fidgeting, and now he realizes exactly how oblivious he was.)

Maybe merfolk don’t mate for life and it would be like a summer fling. He doesn’t even know how mer biology works. Does Connor want kids? Does he want Gavin to raise his kids? It’s one thing to call it a courtship, another to understand what that even entails. This guy is easily impressed and has bad taste, and that’s not a winning combination.

“Please tell me you didn’t ditch work to have some sort of crisis,” Tina says on the other side of the line. She must have just gotten home, since he can hear kitchenware clinking in the background.

“Not exactly.”

“Alright, let’s hear it. What do you need?” she asks.

“How would you interpret the phrase ‘treasure from the land’?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Are you DMing again? Because that’s a shitty riddle.”

“No, I’m not,” he says. “There’s actually a guy and I’m trying to impress him. So if a guy asked you for a ‘treasure from the land,’ what would you do?”

“Punch him.”

Gavin groans. “C’mon, Tina. Not _you_ you, I’m not a lesbian, just—ugh. What do you think? Gold? I could probably find some cheap gold shit.”

“Wow. Way to impress,” she says. “You sure he’s not just pulling your leg? Tell me about him. What’s his name? Where does he live? He isn’t that guy you were eyeing up at the bar the other night, is he?”

“He’s local, his name’s Connor, and he’s a weirdo. Do you think he wants something precious, or food? Because he seems like the kind of guy to appreciate a good cup of tea, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Text him.”

“No phone. He’s off the grid. Should I get tea and something neat? Something that won’t rust,” Gavin says. He suspects Connor doesn’t need any pots or pans.

“I’m gonna go back to what I said earlier: Punch him. He sounds like a creep.”

Gavin snaps his fingers. “Beer! Liquid gold.”

“God, at least make it tequila.”

The thought makes him wince, but he doesn’t need to get good tequila, so that will spare his wallet. “Good idea. What about something more permanent? I don’t think a mug’s gonna do.”

“How long have you known this guy?”

“Stone coasters, maybe? Like the gift of art or whatever.”

“WIll a handful of dirt suffice?”

Gavin sighs. “You are the worst.”

“I’m the best and you know it,” Tina says, a grin in her voice. “What about a watch? Maybe a necklace? Metals, land, you know. And he can wear it every day.”

It sounds like a good idea, but he’s not sure. Something flashy wouldn’t help with Connor’s camouflage, but if he likes to show off… Well, it’s better than the ring idea Gavin’s already ditched. “Maybe not the worst,” he amends, heading for the part of the store where he thinks they keep jewelry. “He’d better like this.”

“Hey, it’s on your head if he doesn’t, not mine! It’s not my fault you’ve decided to go after some Amish guy.”

“He’s not Amish. He’s very… in tune with nature.”

“Hippie?”

“You could maybe call him a survivalist type.” He passes the watches and finds a rack with cheap necklaces, but he doesn’t want anything that might rust. “He’s out in the swamp a lot. I bumped into him at the edge of the glades last week.”

“Was he what you encountered that scratched you up? Damn.” She whistles.

He can’t even say no and that infuriates him. “He has sharp nails,” he says, like that makes it any better. Something else catches his eye: A set of quartz jewelry on display. “And he calls this ‘courtship’. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not sure if we’re seeing each other or not.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“Sure.” He picks up a bracelet. Shiny sea-green quartz beads strung on a silver cord. It genuinely looks nice, and it’s within his price range, though it’s getting up there. “He’d better appreciate this,” he mumbles. Even if this all gets sorted out and they’re not dating, at least the guy will have a human friendship bracelet.

Honestly, dating isn’t his end goal. He’s still terribly curious about Connor and his kind, and wants to get to know him better. But he’s also reminded that he’s been single for years now, and really, how bad could it be to get a hug from someone who likes him? Maybe even a kiss?

Even if those come with swamp water and fangs.

* * *

“Whatcha doin?” Alice asks, popping up on the other side of the log Connor’s leaning on.

He looks up from his task, wood in one hand and stone knife in another. “Are you on your own?” he asks. They’re not too far from the shoal’s current hangout, but it’s a quiet place in the evenings. The water is shallow and Connor’s tail is beginning to dry out on top.

“I told mom I was with you.” She beams at him. “I am now.”

“Something might eat you if you’re not careful,” he chides, even though the short trip is a safe one. “You should always have an adult with you.”

Alice raises an eyebrow. “You snuck off.”

“I’m a grown-up. I’m allowed to.” He whittles away at the wood, keeping his hand steady.

The piece in his hand is a wood flute, one of many that they own, kept amongst caches of their belongings in the region. Over the past few years, he’s become adept at working the wood of the cypress trees, creating a few instruments with good timbre and sturdy construction, this flute being one of them. It was made last year and remains in good condition. It might be cheating, just a little bit, to present something clearly made in advance, but that’s where the engravings come in.

“Who’s that for?”

“I wanted to practice my carving. I’m working shallowly, see,” he says, showing her the instrument. It isn’t perfect, but he’s pleased with how it’s coming out, especially as intricate as he’s making it. “It shouldn’t affect the sound, but it looks nice.”

She runs a finger down the wood, feeling the marks. “It’s pretty. Is it for a boy?”

“No, of course not,” he says, tail shifting slightly. “What makes you think that?”

“Mom thinks you’re seeing a boy.”

“Well, Kara can think what she wants. What do you think?” Connor asks. He taps the knife against the flute. “If I say this is for myself, do you believe me?”

“No,” Alice says, propping her chin up in her hand.

“You don’t believe me?”

“You keep grooming yourself. You brushed your hair three times this morning and checked your scales twice. You even got out the mirror.” She sighs dramatically. “Are you having an affair?”

“I don’t think you know what that word means.”

“I’ll keep it a secret if you tell me,” she promises. He’s not sure he believes her, but he suspects if he continues to lie, she’ll cause trouble. “Is it a girl? Mom thinks you like boys.”

He leans forward and speaks quietly. “Okay, you caught me,” he says. It’s worth it for the delight on her face alone. “I’m seeing a boy. He’s a loner, a real tough guy, and I don’t think he’s met anyone else yet.”

Alice gasps. “Does he look scary?”

Connor nods. “He’s got a scar right across his nose.” He drags the knife through the air across where the scar would be on his own face. “But he’s very resourceful and a true romantic. We’re already exchanging gifts. But this is a secret, of course. We’ve decided not to tell anyone yet.”

He keeps himself from frowning, because when he says it out loud like that, even knowing it’s embellished, it doesn’t sound quite right.

Alice’s tail flicks behind her, excited to be in on the secret. “How long have you been courting?” she whispers.

“A week,” Connor says. “We like each other very much.”

She nods and wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that fast? I thought big gifts came later.”

“Some relationships move quickly.” He taps the hilt of the knife with his thumb. It’s true, this is quick, but surely they were both interested. Gavin even said so.

Gavin, who is human.

Gavin, whose name he learned _today._

He sets down the knife and flute on top of the mossy log. “I’ve proven my strength to him.”

“Has he proven his?”

“He has nothing to prove,” Connor says sternly. “He is resourceful, and…” And what?

He falters, realizing he doesn’t actually know a thing about Gavin.

“Okay,” Alice says with a shrug. “You sure he didn’t scratch his own face just to look cool?”

He can’t even answer that question. Gavin doesn’t have claws, sure, but for all Connor knows, he got that scar by tripping and falling in a ditch.

“He is an admirable man,” Connor mutters, looking at the half-finished flute. He doesn’t feel nearly as motivated to complete it now.

Mates have been chosen for less, but he feels shame wash through him at his childish eagerness and desperation, not to mention his display earlier today. And to demand a gift, rather than offer one? He wouldn’t hear the end of that if Amanda found out.

“A significant gift can indicate a potential mate’s potential for dedication, even this early in the courtship,” he says, picking the flute back up again. “It may be unusual, but it doesn’t mean we are moving quickly.”

“But you just said—”

“It’s a matter of perception.”

She stares at him. “Uh-huh.”

“I will speak with him to ensure we are not moving too quickly, like a responsible adult should do. It’s always important to be on the same page as the one you are courting,” Connor says.

“Is this still a secret?”

“Yes. You’re good at keeping secrets, right?”

“I didn’t say that,” Alice says, putting on her most innocent face.

“I’ll tell you what: I’ll bring you an orange if you keep quiet.”

“Deal.” She holds out her hand and he shakes it. “Good luck with your boyfriend,” she says, then darts back off into the water.

Connor lowers himself into the shallow pool to rehydrate himself. The sky above is almost dark, though he can still see easily. He floats on his back, staring up at the stars, easy to see in this less shaded area he’s chosen.

He has some thinking to do.

* * *

“This is entirely your fault,” Gavin grumbles to the St. Bernard trotting along at his side.

He managed to get the afternoon off again today, but with a catch: He had to walk Hank’s dog. He’d already agreed to it previously, since the weather was forecast to be cooler today, but completely forgot about it until Hank had reminded him when he was telling him he’d be taking off, and since he wasn’t sure when he’d be finished chatting with Connor, he decided to bring the mutt with him. It did mean he now had to lug around a gallon of water and a dog bowl, and keep the beast from splashing about in the mud, but Sumo survived last time. Maybe Connor would even like the dog.

If he’s caught walking back to his car looking like he crawled out of the swamp, he’ll just say Sumo ran off and he had to chase him.

The trek is becoming familiar. He keeps Sumo’s leash held tight and shifts the backpack on his shoulders. “Easy,” he says when Sumo perks up at a bird flapping away. “If you get lost, Hank’s gonna kill me.”

They make it to the usual spot without any incidents, and Gavin rewards the dog with a treat and sets down a bowl of water. “There you go. You gotta keep behaving, alright? Good boy. Looks like we’re early.”

When he looks up, he sees movement a little ways off, something under the water trailed by a basket floating on top of the surface. It comes closer, and soon Connor’s head pops above the water just feet away, brightening up immediately at the sight of Gavin.

“You came,” Connor says. “And you brought more food.”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag.” Gavin gestures to his backpack, then follows Connor’s gaze to where he’s looking at Sumo, who’s lapping up his water. “No. No! The dog is a friend. Off limits. Absolutely not, you cannot eat him.”

“I’m joking.” He pushes himself into the shallows and climbs up onto the ground, reaching a hand out, palm up. His tail is remarkably sizable this close. “Is he your pet?”

Gavin takes off his backpack and pulls out a cheap mat he got from the store yesterday, setting it down on the ground and sitting down on it. His jeans may be old and shabby, but he doesn’t want his car getting gunk in it. “He belongs to a friend. His name’s Sumo.”

“Sumo.” The dog looks up, taking notice of Connor for the first time, and immediately nudges his nose into Connor’s hand, seeking to be pet. Connor laughs, eyes crinkling, and pets him carefully. “I haven’t met many dogs. Never one this big, or this fluffy.”

“He usually stays inside. Too hot outside, you know.”

Connor scritches under Sumo’s chin. “He’s adorable and I love him,” he declares.

“That makes two of us.”

Connor fusses over Sumo for a few minutes more, cooing and petting the dog until he’s settled down on the ground, cool against his belly. Then he pulls the basket closer with a string, taking it in his hands and setting it between the two of them. “I brought you a gift.”

Gavin’s mouth goes dry. This is where they need to sort out what’s actually going on between them, because it hasn’t even been 24 hours since he learned this guy was trying to court him. “So did I,” he mumbles. If he lets Connor show him the gift, at least he can compliment the guy while letting him down. Or whatever he’s doing.

Connor nudges it towards him and watches him expectantly, tailfin swishing in the water. Gavin takes a deep breath, then takes the lid off the basket to reveal the item inside.

It’s an instrument, probably a flute, carved of wood and polished to a shine. Intricate designs are carved into the outside, curves and short lines creating a pattern reminiscent of leaves scattered across a pond. An indigo silk ribbon is wrapped around the neck several times, tied into a bow at the end.

It’s stunning. The engraving itself must have taken hours of work.

He takes it in his hands, feeling the texture across the surface. “Connor, I don’t think I can accept this. I mean, it’s gorgeous. It’s absolutely incredible. But I think we need to talk.”

The merman looks like the wind has been knocked out of him. He glances back at the water like he’s going to sink back into it and slink away, but he doesn’t, looking at Gavin dejectedly. “You’re probably right.”

Oh, thank god, he’s not going to claw Gavin’s face off. “I don’t know how fast your people get together, but humans take months or years before exchanging big gifts like this. Getting to know each other, you know? Learning all the little things and falling in love and whatever schmoopy bullshit. I think you’re great, and handsome, and your scales catch the sunlight like precious gems whenever I see you. But this is fast, man. We’ve gotta slow down. I don’t even know what you want.”

The compliment goes over well: Connor preens for a moment, the fins at his sides spreading out briefly, but he looks properly sheepish afterwards. “I may have been overeager.”

Gavin snorts. “May have been?”

“I don’t know much about you, do I? Not what your life is like, nor your values, let alone what you would want from a mate.” Connor looks down at the ground. “I know you are resourceful and you appear strong. You’re capable of venturing into an environment that’s foreign to you. You’re confident and you have a nice voice.”

“Thanks. At least we’re on the same page now, right? Kind of? Are we still, you know, courting?”

Connor chuckles quietly. “Let’s start with getting to understand one another. You’re the first human I’ve met, and I’ve gone and botched things up. Of course, if you wanted to...” Connor raises his eyebrows and meaningfully glances further into the swamp.

Gavin’s face turns pink at that thought. “Yeah, no.” He replaces the lid on the basket. “Let’s start slow. Real slow. Glacially slow.”

“Of course.” Connor pushes the basket towards him again. “Keep the gift. I understand that I’ve been too forward, but I still want you to have it, courtship or no.”

“Are you sure?” He can’t help feeling like he’s broken this poor guy’s heart.

“It doesný need to be part of some sort of commitment. If it pleases you, I am satisfied.”

“Well… I can’t say no to that.” Gavin pats Sumo, then grabs his backpack, fishing for the bracelet. He holds it out to Connor. “Here. For you.”

Connor looks stunned as he takes it almost reverently in his hands. “This is for me?” he asks, eyes roving over every little detail in the quartz and silver, all the hues and shifting colors under the sunlight.

“Yeah. I saw it and I thought of you.” It’s at least sort of true. “You deserve something pretty.”

“Even if we are not to mate?” Connor touches the beads with the pads of his fingers.

“Enjoy it. Maybe show it off a bit to your buddies. I gotta be honest, though, I have no idea what you meant by gift of the earth.”

“This is perfect.” Connor slips it on his wrist and marvels at it, then surges forward as if to kiss Gavin… and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you. You are a good human friend and would make a wonderful mate to whomever could win you over.”

“That’s touching,” Gavin says. It’s actually one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to him. “So, I’ve got a question for you.”

Connor lets go and sits back. “Go ahead.” He reaches out to idly pet Sumo as they talk, giving the dog a quick smile. “I have a lot of questions, too.”

“Do you drink alcohol? You and your people.”

“You think we don’t?” Connor grins. “We make rum, same as you, and we make drinks from fruits. I don’t know what you call those.”

Figures. Living in a swamp would make for a lot of spare time. “What do you call it in your language?”

Connor clicks twice at different frequencies.

Gavin attempts to repeat the clicks. Connor shakes his head, and Gavin tries again, but can’t get the tones right. “Let’s call it brandy,” Gavin says. “Anyway, I brought tequila.”

“I’ve heard the name, but not tried it.” Connor inches forwards as Gavin digs through his bag. “Do humans drink much?”

“Sometimes too much. Moderation is key.” He offers the bottle for Connor to examine and takes out two glasses. “I got something decent, so you’d better appreciate it.”

“I do. Are there snacks?” Connor asks, setting the bottle down and reaching for the bag.

Gavin places an orange in his hand. “Just oranges.”

“They’re okay, I guess.”

“I’ll stop bringing them if that’s how you feel.”

Connor pulls it close to his chest. “No.”

Gavin pours them both a drink, and he’s relieved that Sumo’s behaving so well. The walk out here must have tired him out a bit. “We’ll get you home before too long,” he promises.

The bottle is empty by the time he leaves.

Turns out Connor can outdrink him easily. Gavin’s far from a lightweight, but Connor’s in a whole other class, blowing Gavin’s concerns about a fish creature drinking alcohol out of the water. The other man still gets drunk, though, and their conversation passes by in a blur. He remembers watching Connor’s lips and those sharp teeth as he talked, the gestures with his clawed hands and the giddy way he laughed at a bad joke Gavin told. He remembers counting the freckles on Connor’s skin, and then the scales, reaching out to touch them curiously and finding them soft, if a bit rough when rubbed the wrong way. And when Connor leaned in close to whisper in his ear, telling Gavin that he wants to know so much more about him and the land beyond what he knows, Gavin could feel the warmth and dampness of his skin.

He stumbles out of the Everglades after a concerned text from Hank. Sumo gets more water and they’re both toweled off before climbing into Gavin’s car, setting it to auto to get him home. Once he gets home, he realizes he still has Sumo and directs the car to drive them to Hank’s place.

The excitement of the day has him feeling content and relieved, happy to have a new friend, and such a strange one at that. They’ve planned to meet again tomorrow—after work, this time, and Gavin explained that he had a job, but belatedly realizes he never said what he did—and he finds that he can’t wait.


	4. Chapter 4

Silas narrows his eyes when Connor returns, weaving strangely in the water and bumping into a tree. It’s late; most of the others are already asleep in their burrows, but he spent his evening playing with a small group of otters a couple miles away. He knows Connor went off to see the one he’s courting, and he’s curious if he’ll bring the man home.

Evidently not. Nor has he brought home the basket Silas just finished weaving yesterday and definitely noticed missing this afternoon. No, he’s just off kilter, meaning he’s either injured, drunk, or sick, none of which are good options.

He slips into the water, darts for Connor, and checks over his arms and tail. No obvious injuries. When he looks at Connor’s face, all he sees is that dorky grin, and suddenly his mood sours.

His brother’s not sick. No, he’s seeing a guy who gets him drunk and lets him go home alone instead of spending the night holding him. It’s careless and rude, yet Connor looks like he’s had the time of his life.

Then a glint of metal catches his eyes and he sees the bracelet. It’s strange, and almost certainly stolen or found from a human area.

“Look what he got me,” Connor says, bringing up his wrist. He looks terribly pleased with himself.

“He stole a pretty thing, gave it to you, and ditched you.” Silas snarls. “He’s using cheap tricks to show off and you’re falling for it.”

“He said my scales look like precious gems in the sunlight.”

“So what did you do, roll over and show your fins?” He’s not sour that his brother likes compliments. He’s sour that his brother likes a guy Silas hasn’t even met and won’t even watch over him at night.

Connor pokes Silas’ chest. “You,” he says, “are jealous. Because I’ve got someone who wants me, and Markus hasn’t even—”

He doesn’t get to finish that thought. Silas hauls him out of the water and pins him to the ground, claws against his throat. “Don’t you dare speak about Markus when the coward you’re pining after won’t even show his face here.”

That earns the attention of another from their shoal, but they simply turn back to their work, uninterested in getting between the brothers.

“He isn’t a coward.” Connor squirms and shoves Silas off of him. “I haven’t invited him and he hasn’t pushed. We aren’t ready yet.” He looks like his good mood has worn off, giving way to bitterness and a hint of sadness. “Don’t push it.”

“Fine.” Silas reaches for Connor’s arm, then huffs when he’s pushed away. “It’s late. You look tired. Unless you’re planning to stay up late and try to catch dinner while your coordination is shit.”

Connor hums. “I forgot about food.”

Silas’ eyes widen and he gives an exasperated look. “He got you drunk and you didn’t even eat first?”

“We had oranges.”

“Okay.” Silas pats his shoulder. “Sit still and I’ll find you some food.”

It takes the better part of an hour to hunt a suitable fish and make sure Connor eats, then Silas drags him over to the den they share with Niles. It’s little more than a hole in the mud at the edge of the water, but it’s sizable and comfortable, keeping them hidden from potential predators, few as they are, or from drifting away. He makes sure Connor settles down before joining, the three of them entwined like snakes.

* * *

Of course, Silas doesn’t trust Connor.

He wakes early and takes the bracelet, tucking it away in a safe hiding place before rejoining his brothers. Connor is frustrated, but Silas insists it must have been lost somewhere nearby and it will turn up eventually. He spends half the morning searching for it, insisting he needs to wear it when they meet again, and Silas only feels a little bad about it, telling Connor that his man won’t mind if he shows up a little late. What good is a man who won’t wait for him, anyway?

When it’s an hour past the time that Connor usually takes off and his brother continues to search and worry, Silas slips on the bracelet and a dark green poncho before leaving.

He’s never followed Connor all the way out before, previously tracking him out of curiosity and concern but not wanting to encroach on his privacy. He follows the trail as far as he knows, then slowly guesses at further paths based on what seems the most logical. Not towards the lake, nor towards the marsh. It gets him turned around a few times, but finally, he finds a wide open spot that would be perfect for a clandestine meeting. There’s even pieces of orange peel at the bottom of the water.

It’s a beautiful area. Much the same as the rest of the swamp, but with a very nice, mossy log to rest upon, if desired. Pools further on are enclosed in land, but it would be easy enough to slither across and into the next if traveling from another direction. A few birds congregate, and there aren’t any gators. There are some tracks in the ground: Lynx, snake, deer, dog… human?

Definitely human tracks. The print of a boot, repeated many times in the mud next to the dog tracks. Silas frowns, furious and concerned. If Connor comes out here again, he’s going to be seen. It’s not worth the risk. Silas should probably turn back, himself.

But he came here for a reason, and he’s going to follow that through.

Silas lounges atop the log, looking out at the water he came from, determining that to be the most likely direction of approach. He relaxes and stretches out casually just like Connor would, keeping the waterproof fabric over the stump of his right arm. His colors aren’t quite the same, and he has different scars, but unless Connor’s new boyfriend has a keen eye or impeccable memory, he shouldn’t notice a thing. Especially if he doesn’t look past the bracelet.

He’s left waiting for a couple of hours, and he begins to wonder if he’s made a mistake or misjudged the location. He makes a game for himself of catching tiny fish, then tossing them to the wading birds before they take off. A couple of times he dips back in the water, the heat and sun drying him out unpleasantly, though the poncho helps prevent it from happening so quickly.

Finally, someone arrives.

There’s the sound of something noisy behind him, shuffling through the foliage and water. Silas turns in that direction, wondering if the stranger is clumsy in his attempts at traversing the land or unused to this portion of the swamp, and then he sees the human. He almost slips into the water to take off, but the human spots him and waves.

“Sup, Con! Told you I’d be back!” he calls. His clothes are worn out and dirty, the stubble on his face is overgrown, and he’s carrying a bag with him.

There’s no way this is the man Connor’s seeing. There has to be some other explanation, some good reason for him to see this—this _creature_.

“What, you’re just gonna sit there? Come on over.”

Unless Connor’s not seeing this man after all, simply bartering for human goods. Anger flares within him. He’d risk them all for, what, oranges and a bracelet? It’s reckless and uncharacteristic of him.

Silas forces himself to relax and flutters his eyelashes. “Aren’t you going to ask me nicely?” If he’s going to figure out who this man is, he needs to play along.

“Fine. Will the most beautiful man in the world please come here so we can have a normal conversation?”

If this guy is who Connor’s courting, he’s as good as dead, and not by Silas’ hand.

Silas dips into the water and swims towards the edge, staying a couple feet away in the shallows. “Did you miss me?” he teases.

“Sure. Not like I can text you or anything. I know you liked Sumo, too, but I can’t bring him every day.” He sets a mat on the ground, sits down, and hands Silas an orange. His eyes soften when he spots the bracelet. “You really like it, huh?”

“How could I not? It’s beautiful, and it’s from you.” He bites his lip coquettishly. He can’t believe he’s this close to a human without clawing its eyes out, and he’s disgusted with Connor. The orange floats on the water when he releases it. “What if I want something new? You’ve got access to all this food and you’ve only got oranges?”

“Relax, Jesus. I’ve got more.” He pulls out what appears to be a tiny chocolate bar, covered in a silver-and-brown wrapper. “What’s with the getup? I didn’t think you wore clothes.”

“It keeps me cool and moist on hot days like this.” Once the chocolate is unwrapped, Silas accepts it, popping it all in his mouth in one go. It’s sweet, and he can’t taste much outside the sugar. He asks a question of his own: “Did you like the gift I gave you?”

He nods. “I’ve never played flute, but I’m going to give it a try. Do the engravings on the outside mean anything?”

Silas’ toothy grin freezes.

Something like that is only given as a token of great affection. A parent to a child, a leader to her second, one betrothed to another… And this guy doesn’t even have a clue.

What the hell is going on with his disaster of a brother?

“Come into the water with me,” Silas says instead of answering. “I want to show you something important.”

The stranger looks surprised, but he shrugs and stands. “I’m not going deep,” he warns. “Maybe a couple feet, max.” He indicates depth with a distance between his hands.

“That’s okay. It’s only a short walk away,” he insists, looking up at him with an imploring look.

“Lead on,” the human says, stepping into the water.

So Silas does. He darts ahead, glancing back to make sure he’s still being followed, and darts back and forth. This guy is so slow he almost can’t stand it. But once he’s a decent distance away from his mat, in a spot where the ground slopes sharply to deeper water, Silas grabs him and swims.

The man gargles, and Silas makes a half-hearted attempt to keep his head above water. The struggle is kind of pathetic, honestly, for all that Connor lauded his strength, and Silas finds yet another reason to be disappointed.

He tosses the man onto the shore of a small island completely surrounded by deeper water. He hacks and coughs, stepping backwards and almost slipping back into the water. “What the fuck?” he asks, coughing again. “What the hell was that? Connor?” There’s a fair bit of anger in his voice.

Good. He’s got spirit.

Silas slips out of the poncho, its weight an unpleasant burden. He doesn’t need to hide his scars or arms anymore now that his ruse has served its use. “Why are you here? What is your purpose?” he demands sharply. He knows what it’s like to be taken by humans, and he’ll kill this one if that keeps it from happening to his brother.

“Not Connor. Okay,” he says, clearly nervous. “I’m friends with Connor, who, by the way, said he hasn’t told any of his buddies about me, and I’ve done the same. Was it absolutely fucking necessary to do that? We could just talk like normal goddamn people—”

“No, we can’t. You have absolutely no respect for my brother and his misplaced interest in you, and we cannot risk your curiosity leading to any more of us dying!” Silas bares his teeth at the man. “You need to leave, permanently, one way or another.”

“Did you even talk to him? Like, okay, maybe he jumped the gun a bit, but do you trust his judgment or are you out here making more assumptions?”

Silas takes a swipe at his leg, but then he feels something solid slam right into him. It staggers him, then he’s dragged underwater. He lashes out, claws scratching through flesh, and sees Connor’s absolutely furious face staring down at him.

“You are out of line,” Connor growls in the clicks and whistles of their native language. Silas swipes at him again, but Connor dodges, scratching his own claws across Silas’ chest. Their blood floats to the surface.

“I’m out of line? You’re the one wooing a human.” Silas swims up, deciding that the quickest way to end this is to take out the human, and he lashes out after breaching the surface.

Connor tackles him to the ground, Silas’ claws only nicking the stranger’s skin. They wrestle, all claws and tails and teeth, struggling and rolling over each other in the mud.

Silas puts up a fierce effort, but he knows he’s outmatched without his formerly dominant arm. The fight ends with Connor pinning him down, his hand at Silas’ neck, and he pulls back the pressure so as not to choke him.

“Leave him alone,” Connor says coldly. “You do not have the right to attack my friend.”

“Why? You want to lose your arm, too? Or your pretty tail? If you’re lucky, he might put you in a tank.”

Connor presses down again in warning, then lets go, taking the bracelet from Silas’ wrist and shoving him into the water. “Leave. Don’t come back here,” he says in English.

Silas doesn’t linger. He makes a splash with his tail, one that’s sure to irritate the human, and sinks back into the water before swimming away.

He isn’t sure what to do now. He should tell Amanda, but Connor doesn’t deserve any punishment she may mete out, no matter how awful his decisions. Nor does he have any interest in meeting the human again; Connor’s anger came with pain, which is peculiar, but he doesn’t want to make that worse.

Yet the thought of Alice or Niles being taken away because of Connor’s carelessness worries him. Tending to his wounds will give him time to think, and perhaps he’ll be able to make Connor see sense if he can find the right words.

* * *

Connor checks Gavin over head to toe, clicking and trilling anxiously all the while. Despite Gavin’s reassurances, he needs to check for himself, though it’s difficult with all the clothes he’s wearing. Gavin finally swats him away after an attempt to check his thighs, a reminder that nudity isn’t common among humans, and Connor ceases his investigation, then escorts him away from the island.

Gavin doesn’t seem to calm even after reaching solid ground. He slumps onto his mat, dripping despite Connor’s efforts to keep him mostly above the surface. “Think he’ll come back?” he asks, glancing past Connor at the water beyond.

Connor shakes his head. “Not after being humiliated like that. He’s more likely to tattle and stir drama once he’s done licking his wounds.”

“Speaking of which…”

Connor grimaces and climbs up onto shore. There’s a few scratches on his arms and chest, and a nastier one across his collarbone. “I have salves, but I’d have to go get them. It can wait.”

“Do you want me to stitch that up?” Gavin asks, gesturing to the worst one. “I have a first aid kit.”

Without a mirror or clear, still water, Connor can’t see the full gash. He suspects he doesn’t need stitches, but he can admit he’d rather not have a prominent scar from his own brother. Besides, it’s Gavin offering to do this for him. “I would appreciate it.”

The other man’s already digging through his backpack, pulling out a white box with a faded label on top, followed by an unopened plastic water bottle. “I’d offer you a bandage, but I don’t have any waterproof. Water-resistant, sure, but you’re pretty aquatic.” He twists open the bottle with a satisfying cracking sound, then leans forward. “Hold still and don’t bite.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I’ll try not to,” he says flatly. The poured water irritates with its motion, but he doesn’t comment on it. “How could you not tell that wasn’t me?”

“You’ve got the same face, same tail…”

“Excuse me?” Connor huffs. “Same tail? Have you seen these scales?”

“Same vain-as-hell personality.” Gavin takes out a needle and thread. “This’ll hurt. Is he normally that violent?”

It isn’t his first time getting stitched up, and thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be Gavin’s first time stitching someone else up. “He may have been trying to figure out who I was seeing.”

“Con, that’s more than a ‘may have been.’ He tried to murder my ass.”

He’s right, but Connor doesn’t really want to fess up to gossipping about Gavin at home. Connor winces at the pain. “Silas is an asshole. I love him, but he can get nasty. You’re a human; your people don’t know about ours, do they?”

“Only as myths. I’ve never once heard of a mermaid being actually real. Merfolk, whatever. I guess keeping your existence secret is important to avoiding exploitation, right?”

“At best, we’d be a tourist attraction.” Connor doesn’t mention the scientists who do know about them. “You need to understand his wariness.”

The final stitch is threaded. Gavin cuts the thread and pats Connor’s chest. “Good?”

He pats the skin himself, finding the stitching to be even and clean. “Yes.”

“Good.” Gavin tucks away the kit and slouches atop his mat. “Is everyone you know gonna be like that?”

“No. Most of them have moderate tempers. Silas is an exception, and Amanda…” If Amanda met Gavin without any introduction, she would kill him. The shoal is her responsibility, and if she found a human seeking out merfolk for whatever reason, she would not hesitate to do what she thinks best. “I should tell Amanda about you. Just to be safe.”

“Why do you have human names, anyway?”

“Why do _you_ have a human name?” Connor bites his tongue and cringes the moment he realizes what he said. “Nevermind. We speak human tongues amongst ourselves, and not all of our kind are fully isolated from humans. Our names in our native language are analogous to those we use for human speech.” He demonstrates by saying his own name, a whine that starts on a high note and descends to two low clicks.

“I don’t really see the resemblance.”

“That’s fine. You’re not fluent.” Connor blinks, eyes widening. “I could teach you.”

“I literally don’t know if that sound is humanly possible.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can learn. But not today.” Connor pulls Gavin’s bag close, watching the human move slightly to protest before ceasing the movement. He looks through the food items, most of them unrecognizable, and takes out an orange, offering it to Gavin. “Eat.”

Gavin takes it, but doesn’t look very enthused. “I brought these for you.”

“Food is for sharing, and you’re the one my brother dragged into the mud. He hurt you without just reason.”

“It’s only a couple of bruises.”

“Ones you should not have.” Connor wrinkles his nose at the fruit. Is it insufficient? “I can find fish if protein would serve you better. You should be able to find enough kindling for a fire.”

“Don’t think that’s legal.” Gavin begins peeling the orange.

“Neither is feeding the wildlife, Gavin.”

Gavin pauses. “How’d you know that?”

“Tour guides.”

“Right. Well, no fish.” He tosses the peel, then separates the orange into two halves, offering one to Connor. “Bone ape tit.”

“Bon appétit,” Connor says, holding back a sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Twice now Gavin’s brought Sumo home with his fur soaked in swamp water, and twice Hank’s yelled at him for it. It’s not like Sumo’s even good at running off, even if the leash had broken the first time, and he’s only giving Gavin the benefit of the doubt because he’s known the guy so long.

So when Hank relaxes his grip and Sumo darts off like a hellhound, he’s completely unprepared.

“Sumo!” Hank calls, but the dog doesn’t stop, running across the sidewalk like he’s got somewhere important to be. Cursing, he jogs to catch up, but Sumo’s way faster than him. He just hopes the poor dog doesn’t get his leash caught on anything, though there’s not much to get it caught on, at least.

Until Sumo turns into the woods.

“Christ, don’t do this to me,” he mutters, taking a second to catch his breath when he reaches the point where Sumo turned. A groan escapes him when he realizes he can barely see the dog as he moves deeper, towards the swamp land.

Internally, he curses Gavin. This is one hundred percent that man’s fault for turning his dog into a troublemaker.

Hank’s not about to let Sumo get lost without him (though he’s certain Sumo knows the area better than he does). He follows the trail as best he can, grimacing when the grass turns to damp ground and mud, then finally to the cypress swamp. Mosquitoes bite at his arms and he slaps them away, slowly and steadily navigating his way on as much solid ground as possible.

Thankfully, Sumo hasn’t gone far. When Hank finally reaches him, he’s settled on the damp ground, wagging his tail delightedly. An orange peel rests nearby.

Hank breathes a sigh of relief, jogging over to Sumo and kneeling beside him. “There you are, boy,” he croons, petting him. “Why’d you go and run off like that, huh?”

“I didn’t think you’d show today,” comes a voice to Hank’s left, and his head snaps up.

There’s a man resting atop a log, his bare, lean back to Hank. As Hank watches, he stretches out languidly, and—

Is that a tail?

His lower half shines green, silver, and gold, moving like it’s a natural extension of his body. Gold fins splay out at the side, the colors brilliant and shiny, and in Hank’s confusion, he’s torn between interpreting it as something artful or something like a dying fish out of water.

The man inclines his head to look over his shoulder at Hank, a playful smile on his face, and then his eyes widen and his smile freezes in place.

“Hi,” Hank says, for lack of anything better to say.

The man rolls away from him and off the log, slipping into the water.

“Wait!” Hank starts to panic at the thought of a half-naked man submerging himself in the swamp. That’s not good, definitely bad. He takes two steps into the water before he can think about it, going through CPR and other rescue procedures in his head, hoping that the guy has some sort of very good reason to be out here.

Then the guy’s head pops out of the water to his side and he jumps.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Hank asks, staring down at the younger man, who is currently situated in the shallows between Hank and his dog. “You can’t just—dive into the swamp!”

“Who are you and why do you have this dog?” he demands firmly.

Hank blinks at him, and then his eyes slide back to the man’s tail. Creepy prop. “Sumo’s my dog. What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I don’t believe you. Why did you come here?”

Hank gestures to Sumo. “My dog ran away.” Into the swamp, where Gavin’s gone with him. Twice. “Hold up. You think he’s Gavin’s dog? Hell no.”

At that, the man seems to relax. “You know Gavin Reed.”

“Yeah.” Hank clears his throat. “Hank Anderson. We work together.”

The stranger studies him, and Hank observes him in turn. His pupils are slits, his ears are pointed, and his hands—from what he can see under the water—have claws. “Connor.”

“Connor. Nice to meet you,” Hank says. “Nice, uh, costume. I’ve never seen contacts like that before.”

“...Right.” Connor half turns away from him and swims the final few feet to shore. The tail is ridiculously long for a costume. “Hey, Sumo. I missed you.” He reaches out and pets Sumo, threading his wet fingers through the dog’s fur. They’re webbed. The skin isn’t wrinkled like he’s been in the water for long, so Hank presumes he’s at least being somewhat sensible with his outfit.

“So… Why are you out here?” This has to be the most bizarre thing Hank has ever witnessed. “And why the merman outfit? I mean, it’s scary realistic. It’s just not what I’d expect, design-wise. You’ve got the swamp vibe, but most people go for something beautiful.” Hopefully the guy isn’t ill and it really is just a hobby.

He can see Connor pause before pulling back from Sumo and looking over at Hank. He’s even got some freaky-looking gills on his neck. He looks like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it, instead opening his mouth wide to bare his teeth.

“What the hell?” Hank mutters, staring at the teeth. They’re sharp, thin, and slightly longer than they should be. That’s more than just a costume—that’s some sort of implants, probably. It’s a frightening level of dedication.

It hits him then that Gavin’s been meeting this guy—and Connor was absolutely showing off when he thought Gavin was there. Everything falls into place: The hours off work, the strange moods, even the scratches on Gavin’s arm.

“You’re dating Gavin,” Hank concludes. “Jesus. I knew he was a little strange, but I didn’t know he was into something this freaky.”

Next thing he knows, his head hits the soft ground and he’s on his back, something having tripped him up from behind. Connor’s tail, he belatedly realizes, his mind working slower than the other man can move.

Then Connor crouches over him. His face is hard and pulled into a sneer. “I can’t say you’re anything more than a disappointment. Are you always this tactless and foul? Or are you just as horrible as the rest of your kind, taking and killing and throwing garbage wherever you please?”

Apparently, Hank’s interpretation of Connor’s costume has hit a nerve. “Easy,” he says, showing his hands. “I’m not judging, you know? It’s just the whole swamp thing and mermaid thing, that’s a little unusual, right? And, you know, the claws and scratching. It’s more than most people would get up to. You’re, uh, kind of really into it.”

At that, Connor’s face falls. “Is he healing? I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, but he was hurt last time he came out here.”

The bruises across Gavin’s arm come to mind, and Hank realizes the scar across Connor’s collarbone is fresh. There’s a story behind those injuries. “He’s doing just fine. Now can you get the hell off me? I promise I won’t insult you again.”

“You had better not.” Connor releases him, shifting back a few paces and watching him closely. “I don’t understand. Do you think I am dressed like this for amusement?”

Hank sits up, hearing his back pop. There’s gunk stuck in his hair. “That, or it’s some sort of lifestyle thing. Honestly, I really don’t need to know what you and Gavin get up to…”

“We don’t get up to anything. This is my home, and this is where we meet.”

“Okay,” Hank says. “I’ll bite: Why?”

Connor gestures to himself. “I don’t have legs.”

“So remove the costume?”

“I. Don’t. Have. Legs,” Connor says, slowly and firmly.

Hank thinks he gets it now. “You believe you’re a merman. Like, an actual merman. You bought some ridiculously expensive, realistic tail and body mods, and now you think you actually are one.”

“I feel more insulted with every word you say. I don’t—hold on.” Connor pats Sumo on the head, then slips back out into the water, ducking his head under.

It’s uncomfortable to have the other man staring at him like that, eyes unblinking in the swamp water, and Hank really, truly hopes the guy doesn’t try to drown himself to prove a point.

He sets a timer on his phone just in case. If it reaches three minutes, he’ll go in.

At two minutes, he gets restless. Connor continues to watch him, his arms and tail moving gently.

At three minutes, he sets his phone on the ground and stands. “Look, you don’t have to do this,” he says. “Get out or I’ll drag you out.”

Connor makes no move to surface, so Hank wades in. Sumo hops up, following on his heels.

And Connor, the bastard, slinks backwards with every step Hank takes.

“Come on, Connor, I don’t actually have a problem with you,” Hank insists. The water is up to his knees. Connor has to need to breathe by now. “Don’t hurt yourself like this. Please.”

It’s another minute or so before Connor stops tormenting him, surfacing slowly and taking a slow breath into his lungs. Hank breathes a huge sigh of relief. His arms are shaking from the adrenaline. “Are you alright?”

“I am nothing less than what I appear to be,” Connor says. “Have you never seen an aquatic being in your life?”

“I live in fuckin’ Florida, I’ve seen plenty. When’s the last time you saw a doctor?” Logically, Hank gets that Connor’s trying to tell him he’s not human, and the pieces would add up, except for the fact that that’s not possible. “A real doctor.”

Connor looks as exasperated as Hank feels. “Let’s get you back to shore, Hank. According to Gavin, wet clothes are uncomfortable.”

“How haven’t you died yet?” Hank asks. He turns around as directed, keeping an eye on Connor so the other man doesn’t pull another stunt. “Between the snakes and, well, everything.”

“Why do you believe my tail is manufactured?”

Hank blinks, pausing to take a look at Connor’s tail, which is now stretched out across the water, long and shimmering. It looks exactly like he’d expect a fish to look, and the movement is entirely realistic. “Technology can do a lot these days. It’s not like…” He bites his tongue. He was about to say that merpeople can’t be real, but he doesn’t want to keep arguing with Connor, stubborn as he is. “You’re impressively convincing,” he says instead. “I’m just a hard man to convince.”

Connor seems to accept this. When Hank is on solid ground, feeling like he’s weighed down by the water soaked into his clothes, Sumo joins him and shakes himself vigorously, spraying water everywhere. By the look on Connor’s face, he finds the action more adorable than Hank does.

“Gavin hasn’t said anything about me, then,” Connor says quietly.

“Not a word.” Hank squeezes water from his khakis. “To me, at least. Probably said something to Tina. You know her?”

“No. I’d like to know Gavin’s friends. I shouldn’t, but I want to.”

“And why the hell shouldn’t you?”

Connor looks at him and is quiet for a moment. “Your commitment to disbelief hinders your understanding of me,” he says finally. “I am what I look to be, Hank. It’s better if no one knows we’re real.” He shrugs. “But you’re here now and I don’t see a point in lying or obscuring anything about myself, no matter how much you try to convince yourself against the truth.”

Admittedly, Hank can’t see much that would refute Connor’s claim to being a merman except that they’re not real. “Let’s say you are,” Hank says. “What then?”

“Then you understand that you shouldn’t tell people where we live or even that we exist, because you know what humans are like when they find a new curiosity like us. And you understand that I live in the water and am unable to walk on land. No doctors, no house, no supermarkets. No dogs, though the gators and otters play fetch.”

“That doesn’t sound safe.”

Connor shows his claws. “We’re predators ourselves. Sumo could bite you, but why would he?”

It’s a fair point. “What’s Gavin going to say if I talk to him?”

“Good things, I hope. He never doubted what I was.”

“He’s never been the brightest light bulb.”

“What about you, Hank?” Connor asks. “If you accept that I am not human, what do you do?”

Hank shrugs. “I go home, wash my dog, take a shower, and order pizza. Maybe ponder the absurdity of the universe.” On one hand, the existence of merfolk could have no impact on his life. On the other, if Connor really is one, that could change his whole world. Hank works with aquatic animals; where do merfolk come into that? How do they fit into the ecosystem? “Any of you guys live in the ocean?”

“Some live there natively. The rest of us can travel there if we wish. The saltwater doesn’t hurt us.” Connor looks straight into his eyes. “But you could.”

“Hey. Whatever I think about you, I’m not gonna spill shit, alright? Not unless you need help.” Hank raises a hand. “I promise.”

“Not even if I need help,” Connor says sternly. “We can take care of our own, and besides that, Gavin’s a healer. He said so himself. Does that make you one, too?”

“Buddy, I heal fish. Sea turtles. Not…” Hank gestures to all of Connor.

“The fewer humans who know about us, the better. Even if you think they can help us. I need you to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Alright.” Hank holds out his hand. “I promise. I won’t tell a soul.”

Connor shakes his hand firmly, his damp, webbed hand alien against Hank’s. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Hey. Gavin.” Hank strides across the break room, patting Gavin’s shoulder as he walks past. “We need to talk.”

Gavin pauses mid-sentence, turning from Tina to grumble at Hank. “You can’t just—it’s my lunch break, asshole!”

The expletive earns him a stern look from Tina; he can be heard outside through the walls if he shouts that loud. “He looks pretty serious,” she says. “Think you fucked something up?”

“C’mon, Tina. I’m good at my work.” He wracks his brain trying to think of what Hank would need to talk to him about and comes up empty. If there were a new, urgent patient, he would have said so. There shouldn’t be any issues with Gavin’s work. Unless it’s something about the rescue center itself? That wouldn’t be something worth interrupting his lunch break for, but maybe Hank doesn’t care about that.

Tina gives him a nudge. “Better get going. You can tell me more about your boyfriend’s jealous brother later.”

He groans. Best to get it over with and hope nothing terrible happens.

He finds Hank in his office, steps in, and closes the door. “What’s—”

“I met your boyfriend,” Hank says.

A stunned silence follows. “What?” He can’t mean Connor, surely. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Hank huffs, crossing his arms. His expression is difficult to read. “Come on. You’ve been skipping work, making excuses. Besides that, you know Tina’s a chatterbox. Most cases, this wouldn’t be my business, but this is really something.”

Gavin tries to think back to guys he’s seen in the past few months. “Not Jeff from The Sleepy Turtle, right?”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “You dated him? Is that why he was so bitter last time we went there to eat?”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. So who do you think I’m dating? What’s this about?”

“This is about your weird-ass fish fetish, Gavin.”

Gavin sucks in a breath. “Don’t tell me you met Connor.”

“Oh yeah. I met Connor.” Hank leans forward and gestures to a chair across the desk. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking as Gavin sits across from him, before he speaks again. “Is he the reason you keep taking my dog into the fucking swamp?”

“It was only a couple of—”

“You do not need to take my dog on your dates to impress Connor.”

“He ran off, damn it. The lead broke! I can’t magic Sumo back to dry ground.” Gavin drags a hand down his face. “And Connor isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Gavin, when I met him, he was lounging topless out on the water, stretching out like he was showing off, and giving me that seductive over-the-shoulder look. ‘I didn’t think you’d come visit me today,’” Hank says, mimicking Connor’s flirty tone of voice. “Look, I’m not going to—well, yes, I am going to judge you—just…” Hank sighs. “He was really into the whole mermaid thing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he fucking is one,” Gavin snaps.

The look that Hank gives him almost makes him want to rethink that. “Mermaids aren’t real,” Hank says.

“They’re real, and they’re assholes. You saw the guy, didn’t you? All teeth and claws and the vainest goddamn fish I’ve ever met.” The memory of Silas’ tousle with Connor reminds him exactly how dangerous merfolk can be. “And he’s the nice one.”

“He tackled me because I wasn’t you. That part of your whole mermaid schtick?”

Gavin spreads his hands. “What do you want me to say? He’s a swamp predator, he’s social, and he’s very passionate. Maybe territorial. The wrestling is a dominance thing.”

“You’re really buying into this.” Hank grimaces. He doesn’t say it like an accusation or in disbelief, but more like resignation. “You think he’s actually a mermaid.”

“Merman. Merfolk. Mer, whatever. Yeah, though.” Gavin scoots forward, resting his folded hands on top of the desk.

“Fuck.”

Gavin grins, a bit of his anxiety lifting. “So you believe me. That Connor’s a mer. And that I don’t have a thing for fish,” he adds.

Hank slumps back in his chair. “Let’s say I do. What then?”

“Then congratulations, you know a mythical creature with questionable taste in men.”

“One who tackles strangers as a ‘dominance thing’?”

“He likes to impress me with his strength. I impress him with Hershey bars. We’re seriously not dating,” Gavin says, and this time he thinks Hank will believe him. The other man’s stubborn, and an asshole at times, but not a total dick. “We’re just friends. I only met him the other week.”

A concern he hadn’t thought about comes to the front of his mind. “Hey,” Gavin says, speaking more seriously now. His eyes meet Hank’s. “You won’t tell anyone about Connor, will you? There’s a reason his kind don’t interact with humans.” It doesn’t take a detective to figure out that Connor’s shoal has been hurt before. Silas, most likely, if not others. After a bit of thought, Gavin’s not pissed at Silas anymore. (Maybe a little, but he’s come to the conclusion that Silas’ anger may not be an overreaction.)

“Why would I? Mermaids aren’t real.” Hank shrugs, sitting upright again and cracking his back with a sound that makes Gavin wince. “But hypothetically, if they were, and if Connor was one, do you think he’d like more human friends?”

Gavin weighs the pros and cons. If Hank already knows, there’s not much risk. “Yeah. I get the impression they’re kind of insular. You could always ask him yourself.”

“I might just do that.” Hank chuckles. “You know how we always talk about all the unknown shit at the bottom of the ocean? Didn’t expect there’d be something so unknown in our own backyard. New fish, sure, microorganisms we’ve never seen before, but this? I’ve got a whole lot of questions now.”

“Ones you shouldn’t research.”

“I rehabilitate sea turtles. Until one of these guys gets caught in a net, I’m not doing unpaid research.” Hank frowns. “What happens if they do get injured?”

“If we’ve gotta help them, we’ll wing it. Simple as that.” He hopes it never comes to that, but he knows he would do as much as he could if he had to. “So… good talk?”

Hank sighs. “Text me if Sumo’s gonna end up soaked in swamp water. And don’t forget the hatchling release next week. I counted a whole hundred of them. You’ll miss them, won’t you?”

“Give it a few weeks. We’ll get at least a bucket’s worth of wash backs.”

“Like always. Yeah, we’re good. Does Tina know?” Hank asks, standing and stretching.

“No. I might introduce her, if Connor’s down for it, but no one else. She’s the only one I trust.” Gavin stands as well.

“Let me know if that happens. I’m no good at keeping secrets from friends.” Hank gestures to the office door and Gavin leaves first, returning to his half-eaten lunch at the now-empty table. “Finish your lunch, then I want you in Lab B. Jeremy needs his medication.”

“Yes, sir,” Gavin says. He sits down and eats like everything’s the same as it has been, but he’s realizing that this friendship he has with Connor isn’t inside some sort of bubble. It’s real, and it’s going to impact his friends, and that’s kind of terrifying and exciting at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, hope you enjoy! Shit happened right after I posted chapter 4 and now I'm finally getting back on my feet, emotionally. I hope you're all having as much fun with this fic as I am!


	6. Chapter 6

“You put your fingers like this,” Connor says, demonstrating the fingering for the fourth time with his long, clawed fingers. “You need to cover the holes with the pads of your fingers.”

“I heard you the first time,” Gavin grumbles. He holds the carved flute comfortably with much less caution than he did an hour ago, and it pleases Connor to see him quickly becoming familiar with the gift. Gavin curls his fingers too far, pressing the tips against the holes instead of the pads, and Connor reaches forward to uncurl them slightly. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“If you had claws, you would know when the angle was off. There we go.” Connor nods as Gavin’s fingers find the right position. “Lift it up and blow across the hole.”

Gavin does so. The flute makes a faint, hollow sound; there’s too much air going right over the top.

“Tighten your lips and lower your angle,” Connor directs. When Gavin does so, making a note much closer to the desired sound, Connor smiles and his tail flicks in the water behind him. “Perfect.”

Gavin cracks a grin. “It wasn’t and you know it.”

“It’s progress.” It’s more than Connor had hoped for after realizing the courtship was going to fall through. That Gavin still accepted the flute was heartening, and that he’s now playing it means more than he knows, making the flute a token of their friendship. Connor has his own plain instrument with him today for the purpose of demonstration, but he’s done less demonstration and more correcting so far. Gavin hasn’t complained.

Gavin blows across the flute, playing a few discordant notes as he experiments with different fingerings. He manages one good note but the rest are breathy, leaking air from the holes, or—one one particularly squeaky attempt—he’s blowing with too much force. It makes Connor grin. It’s rare for one of their own to not know how to play a flute, and there’s something charming about teaching an adult human how to do so.

That the flute was crafted to be special adds to Connor’s fondness, but Gavin doesn’t need to know its exact intent.

“You’re laughing at me,” Gavin says, placing the flute in his lap. “I’m a beginner, man, you’ve gotta set your expectations as low as they can go. What do you think I’m gonna play on this, anyway? Wonderwall?”

“No, I hate that song.” Connor leans on his elbow, propping his head up on his hand. His tail swishes gently in the water. “It’s the worst ukulele ballad I’ve ever heard.”

Gavin snickers. “I’d hate it too if I only ever heard it acoustically. Really, though, what’s your style of music?”

“We have a lot of slow, melodic songs. Sometimes bright and fast, like birdsong. Most of the time it’s beautiful and emotional, but we play for fun, too. Your pop songs are easy to borrow from.”

“It must suck not having your own radio.”

“We don’t commodify nearly as much as you do. The way we view music is different. I don’t think that’s a good or a bad thing.”

“Fair.” Gavin sighs and wipes the sweat off his brow. “Fuck, it’s hot out.”

It is rather hot and humid. Connor’s already had to dip back in the water a few times after his skin’s dried out, his love for the sunlight warring with the need for hydration. Gavin is averse to the idea himself, but he’s in the shade and has plenty of water. It looks like he’s about to remove a layer of clothing to cool himself off.

...Wait.

Connor perks up. He’s seen shirtless humans before and topless merfolk are the norm, but not Gavin. It is unremarkable in general, but given that Gavin always wears shirts, the thought of seeing him topless is unusually titillating.

Gavin pulls his shirt over his head and sets it on his bag, fanning himself briefly with his hand. He looks as fit as Connor expected, with wiry hair on his chest and under his arms in a manner typical of humans. No tattoos (a novelty that Connor would have been strongly interested in), though there are a few scars, most of which appear to have been minor injuries.

“You staring?” Gavin asks.

“You’re an attractive man.” Connor reaches out, gently touching a scar at Gavin’s side. “Not in constant danger, I hope.”

“Nope. I babysit turtles for a living. Easiest job on the planet.”

“And not a single one has bitten you,” Connor notes, glancing between all the scars.

Gavin wiggles his fingers. “The tiny ones have. I don’t give the big boys the chance. I know how to handle a snapping turtle.”

“Why watch over them? Are they pets?”

Gavin cracks his knuckles. “Some people keep small turtles as pets, but no. I work with a sea turtle rescue. Someone finds a turtle that’s been hurt, we bring it in and nurse it back to health. Like injuries from motorboat blades or getting caught in nets or plastic.”

“And the tiny ones?”

“Hatchlings that walked the wrong way or got washed back to shore. People find them on the beach and bring them to us.”

“So that makes you a healer and a caretaker for turtles, then.”

“Pretty much.”

If Connor weren’t already infatuated with Gavin, he would be now. Empathy that extends beyond one’s own species is expected, but going so far as to dedicate his life working to help out injured animals makes his respect for the man grow. He knew there were humans working to treat the harm wrought by humanity—he knows about litter initiatives and the animal rescues along the swamp—but to hear about it from beyond the world he knows is something else.

“There’s other places that do the same,” Gavin adds. “Other turtle rescues, other animal rescues in general. We all do our best to save and rehabilitate the animals that we find. If we can’t release them, they end up in a zoo or something. Cared for, usually on display.”

“I’m familiar,” Connor says. He’s seen a few enclosures near the boardwalks. “A practice born of empathy and wonder.”

“And the pursuit of science and knowledge or whatever. Conservation education, too. But sometimes I just want to see a lynx playing with a ball, you know?”

“I do.” Hesitantly, Connor touches one of the neat, clean scars across Gavin’s chest. Surgical. It’s rare enough to see such scars among his own people, and they’re not always this precise, but he doesn’t know the frequency of such severe illnesses among humans. “Were you sick?” he asks, tapping the scar. It’s a few years old.

“Nope. Had boobs. Didn’t want them.”

Connor makes an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Humans choose cosmetic alterations like this?”

“It gets expensive, but yeah,” Gavin says. “And not-so-cosmetic things. I can’t have kids anymore. I don’t know if that was some sort of factor or assumption in your whole mating thing.”

“Wouldn’t have stopped me from trying,” Connor says with a wink. “Don’t worry, I understand. I know men like you. Only the alterations are new to me.” The fact that Gavin would choose to give up the option to have children puzzles him, but he is aware that he doesn’t know all the differences between their species’ bodies and that there is a vast population gap. Humans are far more plentiful.

He withdraws his hand and relaxes again, curiosity satisfied. “Does Hank assist with the turtles?”

“Yeah. He’s more qualified than I am. He doesn’t look like a guy who cares that much about animals, but neither do I.”

“Bullshit. He’s got a dog.”

Gavin barks out a laugh. “Guess so. Hey, actually… Next week we’re going to release some of the baby sea turtles. Hold on.” He grabs his phone from his pocket, pulling up a photo of a pool of tiny hatchlings and showing it to Connor. “All these little fuckers are gonna get let loose on the beach so they can frolic away to freedom.”

“Oh, they’re so small,” Connor coos. “You really have that many?”

“Yep. You said you swim in salt water, right?”

“Yes. Are you inviting me?” Connor swishes his tail a little too enthusiastically, splashing the two of them with a few cool droplets of water.

“Thursday at dawn,” Gavin says. “Assuming you know what Thursday is.”

“Six days from now. I’m not totally ignorant.”

“Don’t sass me. Also assuming you don’t fucking eat sea turtles.”

“Not the babies,” Connor says.

Gavin scowls at him. “Connor.”

Connor shakes his head. “Not sea turtles. The hatchlings are cute and the older ones are tedious. Too much packaging. They are completely safe from us, I swear.”

“They’d better be.”

“Promise.”

Connor dips back into the water, sighing as the cool washes over his parched skin. From beneath the surface, he can see Gavin fan himself and check something else on his phone.

It’s a new normal for both of them. Hanging out in the swamp like this isn’t typical for Gavin, and spending time with a human—someone who can’t swim and travel the way he does, and who uses electronics and has access to a whole world on land—is so far out of the realm of possibilities he’s ever considered that he would have thought it impossible just a few months ago.

He takes the chance to look around and ensure his brother hasn’t followed him out again. There’s no sign of Silas (or Niles, for that matter), and he doubts that Silas would attack again before pursuing other avenues to end this affair, but he remains wary.

When he resurfaces, Gavin waves him over.

“I gotta head out,” Gavin says. “I promised Tina I’d have dinner with her and I don’t really want to show up stinking like swamp.”

Connor thinks he smells far more like sweat than anything else. “Will you tell me about the food, later?” he asks. “I haven’t seen or heard of most human cuisine.”

“I’ll do you one better and bring you a basket next time I come out here. Two days from now, alright? We can have lunch.”

Lunch would give Connor the opportunity to show off his own foods, too. Fermented eggs and pickled tomatoes may be more palatable to Gavin than raw fish. “I’ll mark it down on my calendar.”

That earns him another laugh and Connor grins. He takes one last good look at Gavin before the shirt goes back on, then journeys with him almost to the edge of the swamp before saying goodbye.

* * *

“How’s your man doing?” Hank asks. He watches in the pre-dawn light as a hundred tiny turtle hatchlings crawl across the beach in front of them towards the gentle waves lapping at the shore. Here at the precipice of morning, the air is cool and the atmosphere is hushed. No one raises their voices except for a child complaining back in the parking lot.

“I assume you mean Connor,” Gavin says dryly. “No, we’re not dating, yes, he’s coming to watch the turtles, and yes, his brother stole a fruit basket from me two days ago.” An interesting encounter, but far more threatening than violent, so Gavin counts it as an improvement. He’s not keen on repeating their first meeting anytime soon.

“You brought him a fruit basket?” Tina asks.

“Not dating,” Gavin insists.

“It’s still cheesy, man. He’s gonna be late, though.”

“He must be watching from somewhere else,” Hank says. It’s hardly crowded, and there’s no good view any further on down the beach, but Tina shrugs and doesn’t push it. She’ll be let in on the secret soon enough once Connor’s had some input on the matter. Gavin bets he’ll be cool with it, at least. The alternative is that Gavin’s going to spill someday when she gets him drunk.

The three of them, two coworkers, and a number of guests stand there watching the turtles until the waves sweep away the last of them into the ocean. Gavin thinks he sees something that’s not quite a fish flash in the distance above the water at one point. He hopes Connor really is out there today watching the turtles along with the rest of them. This work is something he’s proud of. He wants to show off a bit for Connor, sure, but he genuinely wants Connor to care about the work he’s doing.

As the sun rises and the last of the hatchlings disappears in the water, the sound of a gentle melody plays in the distance. Only a few people remain on the beach and they’re already taking off. No one does any more than glance in the direction of the music.

Gavin recognizes the timbre even at this distance.

“You wanna clean up and grab breakfast?” Tina suggests, grabbing some of their gear. “I’m thinking waffles.”

“No, I’m good. I, uh.” Gavin points down the beach. “I think I’m being serenaded.”

Tina stares at him. “I really don’t think you are.”

“His not-boyfriend is weird like that. Let him be,” Hank says.

“And you’re really not dating?” Tina asks, arching an eyebrow.

Gavin walks backwards away from them. “I’m gonna go check out if that’s really him. We can do waffles for lunch.”

“Fine, whatever, but I gotta meet this guy sometime.” She elbows him good-naturedly. “He seems like a total dork.”

“Catch you later,” Gavin says, taking off down the beach.

It’s a fair distance to walk, but the scenery is quiet and the road nearby isn’t busy yet. There’s the sound of his sandals along the sand, the waves rippling gently, and the wooden flute playing its haunting tune. A small crowd of sandpipers nervously speedwalks away when he gets close and he smiles fondly at them. “You’re alright, buddies,” he tells them.

There’s an outcropping of rocks along the shore. It takes a bit of work for a human to traverse, but Gavin’s become an expert at this with how often he goes wandering around. If Connor’s really here, it’s a decently private spot to be in.

When Gavin finally reaches the source of the sound, he breathes a sigh of relief. Connor sits atop a rock in the alcove, the end of his tail dipping down into the water. His eyes are half-open as he plays his simple wooden flute. Red, pink, and orange reflect off of his silver scales like it’s made of crystal, and the quartz bracelet on his wrist glows warmly in the same sunlight. It takes Gavin’s breath away.

Connor lets the song fall on a somber note and sets the flute aside in a leather bag beside him. “I hoped you’d come.”

“I’m getting a real big siren vibe from you right now. Eerie music, sitting seductively on a rock, luring a man to his fate…” Gavin clambers over towards him carefully, mindful that he’s only wearing sandals.

“This isn’t seductive. It’s actually kind of awkward. There’s no good place to sit out here,” Connor grumbles, but he makes a show of stretching out nonetheless.

Gavin shoves aside a couple stones and plops down beside him. “I guess you really can swim in the ocean if you made it out here. Huh.”

“Easily.” Connor leans forward with a grin. “Did you see me out there when the hatchlings were swimming out?”

“Think I saw a trout or something,” Gavin says.

Connor rolls his eyes. “I should know better than to ask by now.” He shifts a couple inches closer until their arms are almost touching. It’s endlessly strange to be near Connor, so human and yet so alien, all strong muscles and freckled skin. “Were those hatchlings all yours?”

“All hundred and twelve of them. I hope they make it out to sea this time. It would kinda suck to fail at that twice.” Gavin glances sideways at Connor. “You didn’t eat any of them, right?”

“I’m a predator; I’m not cruel. Especially not when it’s easier and more rewarding to convince you to bring me something deep fried.”

“As long as you don’t go returning the favor, we’re good.”

Connor’s face brightens. “Actually, I did bring you some food. I made it myself a while ago and thought it might be more to your taste than my normal fare. It’s pungent, but shouldn’t harm you.” He grabs his bag to unwrap whatever’s inside.

“That’s a whole lot of concerning words right there. No, thank you,” Gavin says moments before a jar is placed in his hands. It’s filled with a greenish liquid and what looks like spotless quail eggs and seaweed. He looks at it blankly, notes a few particles he can’t identify, and turns back to Connor. “Okay, what is it? Swamp stew?”

“Fermented egret eggs and seaweed. The lunch we shared the other day had pickles on the side, so I thought you might enjoy this.” He smiles at Gavin hesitantly, as if hoping for his approval.

“I don’t think egret eggs are legal,” Gavin says, but he nods and sets it down on a nearby stone. “But hey, I’ll give it a go. If I’m lucky, it won’t kill me.”

Connor’s smile disappears. “It should be safe. Do you think something in there could harm you? There’s nothing in there that would poison most creatures, and it’s perfectly fine for merfolk, but—”

Gavin presses a finger to Connor’s lips, silencing him instantly. “Hush. It’ll be fine. I’m just giving you a hard time.” When he lowers his hand, Connor nods, folding his hands restlessly in his lap. “I’ll savor every bite.”

“Tell me if you like it and I can make more,” Connor says eagerly. “It isn’t the same as what I know of your palate, but I want to find that common ground so I can provide something for you.”

“We’re friends. We don’t have to provide for each other. A gift can just be a gift.” Gavin shrugs.

“Right.” Connor looks away. “Friends.”

In hindsight, it makes sense that Connor would want to provide for someone he’s courting. Or not-courting, rather, but clearly that interest won’t dissipate in a day, especially not when he wears that bracelet proudly and leans back _just so_ to show off every inch of his body.

Gavin blinks, forcing his gaze back up to Connor’s grinning face, now tinged pink. “I was right: You’re being seductive,” Gavin accuses, earning a laugh in response. “You’re doing this shit on purpose. What, you want me to pity-fall in love with you? Because that is not going to work on me. This combination of wooing me and making me sad and showing off your abs is definitely not going to work.” He keeps his eyes solidly on Connor’s face instead of his shifting tail, and somehow, that’s made easier by how charming his smile is and the glint in his eyes.

Fuck.

“I think you’re attractive and I like you. It doesn’t matter if you reciprocate,” Connor says. He rests his clawed hand lightly atop Gavin’s. “Well, clearly you think I’m attractive, too, and I still think we should go somewhere with that, but I have no expectations. I know where we stand with each other. If it bothers you, I can tone it down. I understand I can be intense.”

Gavin snorts. “Sounds like something that runs in the family.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong. Though unlike Silas, I’m not a dick.”

“You are, but I kind of like that about you.”

“Do you?” Connor tilts his head. The gills at the side are shut closed. It’s strange how natural they look now. “What else do you like about me?”

“Plenty. You’re a cool guy. But I’m not about to stroke your ego just because you look pretty in the sunrise.”

Connor reaches up to trace the scar across Gavin’s nose. “Shame. If you did, I’d have a library of thoughts to share about you in return.”

“What’s a guy like you know about libraries?”

He smiles, sharp teeth peeking out. “Don’t underestimate me, Gavin.”

Maybe it’s the closeness. Maybe it’s the look in Connor’s eye and the quirk of his lips, dazzling in the dawn, otherworldly and perfectly real all at once. Maybe it’s the way Connor sits there as if daring him to do something he might regret.

Whatever it is, Gavin decides to take the leap, casting his inhibitions aside and catching Connor’s lips with his own.

The contact lasts only a moment. Connor pulls back, eyes wide and mouth open, and brings two fingers up to touch his own lips. “Gavin?” he asks, voice low and questioning.

“Yeah?” For some reason, Gavin feels like there should have been a spark. Something monumental. Anything from a moment of clarity to the pain of a toxin from Connor’s lips. Instead, he feels nothing but the weight of indecision slipping from his shoulders.

“I don’t believe this is something human friends do.” Connor watches him like a hawk.

“It isn’t,” Gavin agrees.

“I suspect it isn’t reciprocation of my courtship, either.”

“Let’s think of it as meeting halfway. Courtship has an end goal, right? I don’t.” Gavin cups Connor’s cheek in his hand, marveling at how soft the skin is. “I want to see where the waves take us, as cheesy as that shit sounds. No long-term commitments. Just figuring out how we work together and what life has in store for us.”

“Like human dating,” Connor concludes.

“Pretty much.”

“That’s not exactly halfway. I’m not sure a halfway point between courtship and—”

Gavin cuts him off with another kiss, leaving Connor dazed and distracted. “Are you down?”

“Yes,” Connor replies, nodding sharply. “I will gladly date you, Gavin Reed.”

This time, Connor kisses Gavin, starting out intense before turning to a more tender engagement. All other thoughts fly out of Gavin’s head but for the soft lips on his. It’s like a dream that he never wants to end.

They part slowly, Connor’s lips lingering on his. Connor’s eyes have never looked so beautiful.

There’s a quiet sound to their left. Gavin’s inclined to write it off as the surf or the birds, but the way Connor whips his head around says otherwise. He barely spots a dark head of hair ducking behind a rock some yards away, out towards the ocean, and he freezes. He wouldn’t forgive himself if it were his fault Connor’s kind were discovered.

“Shit,” Connor whispers. “Alice.”

“Alice?” Gavin looks between Connor and where the stranger had disappeared.

Connor grabs his bag, tying it closed. “I’m sorry. I have to go. Can we meet for lunch in two days?”

Gavin grabs Connor’s arm. “Is everything okay?” A million thoughts fly through his head, not all of them good.

Connor gives him a peck on the lips. “Everything’s fine,” he says. He shimmies down into the stream of water, navigating across the rocks like a snake before darting out into the ocean.

When Gavin looks, he can’t see any sign of Alice, but he can piece together enough to assume what she is. He was worried Connor would be seen by another human, but what would it mean if he were caught by one of his own? What if Silas wasn’t the worst of them?

He takes his jar and trudges back up the beach. Two days, Connor said. He just has to wait two days to figure out what’s going on.

He hopes everything they’re doing is worth it in the end.

* * *

Silas tosses an orange up and down as he rests idly among the reeds. The fruit’s become soft and fragrant from his abuse, a few punctures in its skin from his careless claws, but he hasn’t yet become bored enough to eat it. A gator naps across the way in the shade, seemingly unbothered by Silas’ fidgeting.

The fruit basket remains Silas’ secret, a damning piece of evidence that he hasn’t yet shown Amanda. Connor hasn’t confronted him about the theft, either. Hasn’t spoken to him at all, actually, pretending like Silas doesn’t even exist, and Connor’s even taken to sleeping in a separate den from his brothers. It leaves him feeling equal parts vindicated and hurt. Silas knows he’s acting immature about this, but if Connor would just come to his senses and withdraw from the humans…

Unlikely, unless he ends up hurt, but Silas never wants to let that happen in the first place.

He watches the slow movement of the water and tries to imagine life without Connor. He’s thought about it many times before—dreams of swimming off to the ocean to join Markus’ shoal—but it hurts to think of Connor being taken. What if this human puts him in a tank? What if he cuts off a fin as a novelty? What if he sells him to scientists in exchange for a nice chunk of money? The thought of Connor no longer being part of his day-to-day is suddenly very real and very frightening.

The hum of cicadas and frogs is gentle enough not to cover the sound of someone else approaching. Silas bites into the orange, sharp teeth cutting right through the thick, bitter exterior, and juice dribbles down his chin.

“What did you do this time?”

“Who says I did anything?” Silas says through a mouthful of fruit.

“There’s so much tension between you and Connor that Luther’s worried you’re going to fight again,” Niles says. He plucks the orange from Silas’ hand, peels it, and pops a slice into his own mouth.

Silas hums and leans back against a tree trunk. The mud is cool against his tail. “I disapprove of his courtship.”

“Was this a gift?”

Silas declines to answer, which Niles takes as an answer in itself, frowning at the vibrantly colored segments. “Stolen,” Niles determines, then: “You’re jealous.”

That startles a snort out of Silas. “Jealous? Because of a fucking human? Get over yourself.”

Niles stares at him with those piercing blue eyes. “A human?” he asks quietly. “Connor wouldn’t court a human.”

Shit. Not what Silas had expected to let slip, but he can’t take it back. “How do you think he gets all his gifts? He’s not getting shells and sand dollars, if you hadn’t noticed. You’ve seen his bracelet, right?”

“It could have been handcrafted,” Niles says slowly.

“No. Gavin is a human,” Silas says, saying Gavin’s name in the human tongue. “Connor’s putting us all at risk and he can’t even see it. He’s infatuated and easily won over by cheap, foreign trinkets. If he doesn’t cut it off soon, someone’s going to get hurt.”

Niles offers the remainder of the orange and Silas snaps it up. “You know he isn’t the only one who’s had contact with humans.”

“We haven’t spoken with the Seminole since Amanda took over.”

“As far as she knows.”

Silas looks at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what you think it means. We’re not the only shoal, either; don’t forget that Markus’ trades with humans along the coast. Or whatever Zlatko’s gets up to.” Niles wrinkles his nose. “Connor may be quick to fall for someone, but you know exactly how strong and clever he is. Don’t insult his judgment just because the one he’s interested in is a human.”

The news isn’t exactly a revelation to Silas, but he still feels a low simmer of anger that his other brother is, apparently, consorting with humans. He finishes off the orange, then dips his hand in the water to wipe off his mouth. “The human’s from east of the glades, where the cities are. Even you know those people are dangerous.”

“Even you know their population is vast and varied,” Niles counters. “Look, I don’t like the thought of this level of risk, either. But let’s take a risk assessment: What do you know about this Gavin?”

“I know Connor carved him a flute.”

Niles makes a surprised ‘huh’ sound and nods. “Then it’s safe to say we can trust him.”

“No, this is not—are you even listening to me? A flute! For a human! They’re practically engaged!” Silas all but shouts. His hand splashes across the surface of the water as he speaks, and out the corner of his eye, he sees the gator blink at him.

“But you don’t think it’s dangerous enough to tell Amanda.”

“She would exile him,” Silas mutters.

“More importantly,” Niles says, pointing a finger right at Silas’ chest, “have you spoken with either of them about this?”

Silas scowls and pushes Niles’ hand aside. “I didn’t think I needed to,” he says, gesturing to the stump of his right arm.

Niles takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then moves to rest beside him in the cool shade. “Do you think cruelty is more common amongst humans than our own kind?”

“You haven’t seen their world as I have. You don’t understand…” His voice cracks and his tail shifts the dead leaves in the shallows. “I was one of the lucky ones. Those people do not have a single ounce of empathy. I don’t give a shit if not all of them are like Eli. All it takes is one rumor reaching the wrong ears and he’ll be snapped up and strapped to a table.”

“Hey.” Niles wraps an arm around Silas’ shoulders. It takes an effort not to stubbornly push him away. “I don’t know what’s going on with his new mate, but his heart aches for what you went through. He’s the eldest of us and he takes that role seriously. You know he does. He wouldn’t put us all in danger for one man, no matter his interest.”

“But he has,” Silas says.

“Can you do me a favor?” Niles asks.

“No.”

“You’ve got a fiery soul, but you need to temper that. Just for a short while, okay?” Niles rubs Silas’ shoulder soothingly. “I’m concerned, too, and I want to know what’s going on with Connor. It’s unlike him to keep secrets like this. But he’s just as stubborn as you are. If we try to talk to him and you’re both your bone-headed selves, no one’s going to get anywhere. You’ll be pissed off, he’ll be pissed off, and I’ll have a headache.”

“I’m good at winning arguments,” Silas grumbles.

Niles’ lips quirk into a smile. “You’re famously terrible at them.”

“Did you hit your head, or do I need to do it for you?”

That draws a soft laugh from him. “If you can’t remain calm, at least allow me to mediate. I want to resolve this between ourselves without involving anyone else. Like you said, Amanda won’t take kindly to this.”

What little there is of Silas’ good cheer dissipates. “There is no good resolution if Connor doesn’t leave his mate. Either we keep secrets from Amanda or Connor gets exiled. Where is the negotiation?”

“I’m certain there are more outcomes than that. Let’s talk first, worry later,” Niles suggests. He pulls Silas into a reluctant hug before letting him go.

“And if we are put in danger by this?”

“Then I’ll be right beside you working on a solution. Promise,” Niles says. He swims a few feet into the deeper water, turning back to look at his brother. “We’ll talk to him tonight. Until then, why don’t you take your mind off of things? Do something fun?”

“The otters are napping.”

“Are you not making something for Markus?”

Silas sits upright, recalling the plans he had for a wooden knife handle. He still needs to find the right piece of wood. “Perhaps,” he says, plotting out a path in his head.

Satisfied, Niles drifts slowly backwards. “Meet me for dinner,” he says, then darts off under the surface, effortlessly silent.

It isn’t the resolution Silas wants, but he has to admit that Niles’ proposal is reasonable. He puts his frustrated energy towards finding the right wood—disturbing the gator as he swims past—and hopes that it won’t take any more than a simple conversation to get Connor to abandon his courtship.


	7. Chapter 7

Connor waits in the ocean cove as the sun sets, stifling a yawn. The days are getting longer and the early mornings leave him tired and ready to curl up for sleep by dusk, but he would rather be with Gavin than alone at home in his own den in avoidance of Silas. He doesn’t know how to even start reconciling with his brother. He’s gotten them both into a pickle, and for what? Because he likes a human?

It’s not Silas’ fault, he reminds himself. Silas is being perfectly reasonable in his sentiment even if not in his actions. If Connor were in his place, he might have done the same thing, sans the gift theft.

Unfortunately, Connor’s been put in a tough situation. Silas could tell Amanda, or Alice—whose vow of silence could so easily break if not regularly plied with sweets—could tell Kara or Luther, in which case he would be in very hot water. He has to decide on a plan for when someone else finds out, and soon.

He perks up when he hears voices coming down the beach and starts brushing the salt and sand off his scales, which have become tacky in the humid evening air. This will be the third human he’s met. Another risk, Silas would say, but it’s a calculated one. By Gavin’s own account, Tina is his only family; she would find out about Connor sooner or later.

The first human he sees is Hank, who pauses and grumbles something at the sight of all the rocks he needs to clamber over. Connor immediately stretches out, showing off his scales in the vibrant light of sunset before the other two come into sight.

“Holy shit!” he hears from across the distance. Tina gapes at him like a fish while Gavin laughs and nudges her forward. Connor lounges seductively and bats his eyes at Gavin, who raises his middle finger in response.

Classy.

“Hey,” Hank says, taking a seat beside Connor. The tip of his nose is sunburnt. “Do you really need to preen like that every time you meet someone?”

“I like to make a good impression.”

“On Tina or your not-boyfriend?”

“Hasn’t he told you? We’re official,” Connor says, flexing his side fins.

“You are not dating a fish-man,” Tina says when she reaches them. She gawks at Connor and looks all the way down the length of his tail. “Okay, so he looks realistic—”

“He’s real,” Hank says at the same time Gavin says, “He’s a real goddamn merman, Tina.”

Connor holds out his hand and watches her eyes follow his claws. “Connor. It’s nice to meet you.”

She takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “Tina. Are you the reason Gavin keeps ditching work?”

“I haven’t asked him to do any such thing for me.” Connor glances sideways at Gavin, who’s making himself comfortable on one of the stones. If Gavin would agree, Connor would carve out a spot to sleep out here with him, spending their first night together under the stars.

“I mean, I can’t blame him,” Tina says, and Connor looks back at her as she drops down onto another stone. “I’d do the same thing if the object of my interests were running around naked all day.”

“In the Everglades?” Hank asks.

“I’ve made worse decisions.”

Gavin leans forward far enough to pat her back. “Glad to have your blessing.”

Connor looks between the three of them and finds that they all look comfortable and content. “You’re not going to say I’m faking this?”

Hank turns his head and grumbles under his breath. “Not at all,” Tina says. “That would be rude. I’ll suspend disbelief now and grill Gavin about it later.”

“And she’s sworn to secrecy,” Gavin adds.

“Good. The last thing I need is anyone else finding out we exist. It’s not safe. It’s already a risk that I’m all the way out here,” Connor says.

“Yeah?” Tina says. “What about your brothers?”

“What about my brothers?”

“You know, those guys.” She points to the entrance to the cove.

Past the rocks, the light reflects off of two tails just under the surface of the water. Connor can barely make out two faces with short brown hair shifting with the gentle waves. His blood turns cold. Not just Silas, but Niles… Even if he told the humans to leave, they wouldn’t escape in time.

“Oh, shit,” Gavin whispers. “Connor, tell me you invited them.”

His brothers pop their heads above the water. “I didn’t know I was being followed,” Connor says, fidgeting with his bracelet. The thought of being forced to choose between his brothers and these humans makes his chest feel tight. He can’t give up everything for Gavin, but neither can he allow himself to be stifled by his brothers.

He flares his fins as he stares down at them and whistles in warning. Silas bares his teeth in response only to be whacked by Niles a moment later. The two of them talk quietly, clicks echoing off the stones around them, and then Silas is climbing over the rocks, scaling them quickly and efficiently. Connor immediately slides in front of his new friends defensively.

“What is this?” Silas demands coldly, speaking English. His muscles are tense and mouth half-open, sharp teeth just visible past his lips. Niles clambers slowly behind him, looking practically demure in comparison.

Connor puffs out his chest. “These are my mate and his family. I won’t let you hurt them,” he says firmly. His gaze is unblinking as he meets Silas’ eyes. Behind him, he senses his friends staying still.

“You’re out here flaunting our existence to three—three!—humans without any regard for the harm they can cause. You may as well put your tail in a gator’s jaw.” Silas presses his finger against Connor’s chest, the tip of his claw scraping the skin without drawing blood. “We’re going to leave and we’re going to have a long talk about this, and then you’re never coming back to see them again.”

Niles clears his throat. “What did we discuss, Silas?”

“We didn’t discuss shit.”

“What about the fruit basket, Silas?”

At that, Silas deflates slightly. “Confiscating your shameful fruit basket was inappropriate behavior. However, consorting with humans—”

Niles reaches over and knocks Silas’ hand away. “Don’t lose your sense of decency just because the situation changed,” he scolds, switching to their native language. “He’s our brother. Treat him as such.”

“He’s putting us all in danger.”

“He’s determined the value is worth the threat.”

“Do you all have to be such dramatic assholes?” Hank groans. He shuffles forward and Connor watches with horror as he reaches a hand out to Silas. “Name’s Hank. I rescue sea turtles. Nice to meet you. Please chill the fuck out.”

Confused, Silas allows Hank to shake his hand, glancing at Connor as if seeking guidance. “No?”

“No, you don’t have to be so dramatic?”

“No, it’s not nice to meet you,” Silas growls, retracting his hand. He looks scandalized at the contact. After a look from Niles, he continues. “You may, perhaps, have the tiniest inkling of reason.”

Hank crosses his arms. “You mean I’m right.”

“Absolutely not.” Silas’ lips curl back from his teeth. “You’re a danger to us and I hold no respect for humans.” He physically backs off, slithering a few stones away to offer them space. “But I do respect Connor and his judgment. If he determines that Gavin presents no tangible threat, then I trust him. Two more humans, reckless though it is, should not change my opinion on that.”

Connor can hear his heart beating in his ears. “You aren’t going to attack me?”

Silas’ eyes widen and he shifts uncomfortably. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “No. And I apologize for doing so in the first place instead of just talking to you.”

“Speaking of, we should still talk. Regardless of our trust in you, we need to discuss any precautions regarding your… arrangement,” Niles says. He places his hand on Silas’ shoulder. “We’re happy to see you safe and pleased to meet your friends. I would like to know more about this Gavin fellow in particular.”

“At least one of your brothers is normal,” Gavin says.

“Gavin!” Connor hisses.

“I finally understand the fruit basket thing,” Tina says. “Still weird, but I get it. You guys probably don’t get oranges in the swamp, huh?”

“Rarely,” Silas says. He looks to Connor. “Niles is right. I disapprove, but you’ve never put us at risk before.” He inches forward, then reaches out towards Gavin, who hesitantly takes his hand. “I hope you prove Connor’s trust is well-placed.”

“Wouldn’t dream of hurting him,” Gavin promises.

Connor finally stops trying to hide them behind himself, not that it was doing much in the first place. Silas doesn’t appear to pose a threat any longer, and while Connor isn’t sure exactly how that change of heart came about, he’s not going to question it now. “Thank you,” he says quietly to his brother.

“Don’t thank me until we’ve talked,” Silas says. He begins making his way back out to sea. “Niles, I’m out. I’m not giving up hours of sleep to chaperone some dubious hand-holding.”

Niles raises his eyebrows and looks back at him. “I’ll catch up to you later, assuming I’m not interrupting anything here.”

“You’re welcome to stay. The more, the merrier,” Tina says. “Unless Connor doesn’t feel like having big brother watching over his shoulder.”

“He’s my younger brother, actually,” Connor says. He watches Silas disappear into the water, gone in seconds, and wonders how the three of them can work on repairing their relationship.

“We hatched from the same clutch,” Niles points out.

“So?”

“So,” Tina interrupts, sidling over to take a seat between the two of them. “What’s it like living in the swamp?”

* * *

The five of them talk long into the night. Tina reveals a bottle of honey whiskey an hour in and passes it around, Hank taking no more than a taste before passing it along. Connor shares what his life is like, ever mindful not to give any compromising information, and he gets to ask Hank and Tina what their lives are like, learning more about the human experience every minute. By the end of the evening, he’s heard more stories of outside the water than he ever dreamed of and seen so many photos of animals he never knew existed. His chest is light and his heart is full of bursting.

The feeling will dissipate, he knows, when he travels home tonight. He still needs to sort things out with his brothers and figure out what to tell Alice and the rest of the shoal. There’s work to be done, but one hurdle is taken care of.

More than one, he thinks as he looks at Gavin’s grinning face under the moonlight. His heart beats faster at the thought of spending his life with this man. Where would he be if Gavin had never stumbled through the reeds and sawgrass that day?

“What’re you thinking about?” Gavin asks. He holds Connor comfortably in his arms on the sand of the beach, the waves slowly lapping at his feet and Connor’s tail. They’re the only two remaining by the cove.

“I’ve never been in love,” Connor says, speaking the words between them like they’re a secret.

“Oh yeah?” Gavin kisses his cheek. “How does it feel?”

“I don’t know.” Connor takes Gavin’s hand and laces their fingers together. “But I can’t wait to find out.”

Gavin smiles against his skin. “Right there with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @gildedfrost (18+), and I spend time in the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) DBH Discord server as well! There's a channel on the server to chat about my works.


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